


Ready To Strike

by JuliaConstantine



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angry Jughead Jones, Asexual Jughead Jones, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fangs Toni and Sweet Pea are a great team, Gen, Hurt FP Jones II, Hurt Jughead Jones, Hurt/Comfort, Jughead Jones Whump, M/M, My first fic, Original Character(s), Pansexual Sweet Pea (Riverdale), Protective FP Jones II, Protective Sweet Pea (Riverdale), Serpent King Jughead Jones, Softer Sweatpea, Some stupid gang took it too far and Jughead's gonna kill them for it, Southside Serpent Jughead Jones, The Serpents aren't a gang, The Sinners is a gang cause is say so, They're a Family, Who knew killers could be so cute, Worried FP Jones II, Worried Toni Topaz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaConstantine/pseuds/JuliaConstantine
Summary: Jughead is easily perturbed, but rarely truly angry it seems. Only a few have seen him in true, untamed fury, and those who have can never forget the look in his eyes. But he's the Serpent King now, and the old Jughead being mad looks like a temper tantrum.orSome idiot tried to stab Jughead and FP took the hit instead. Now Jug's pissed.
Relationships: Archie Andrew/Veronica Lodge mentioned, Archie Andrews & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones mentioned, FP Jones II & Jughead Jones, Jughead Jones & Sweet Pea, Jughead Jones/Sweet Pea
Comments: 28
Kudos: 77





	1. The Sinners and The Snakes

This was never supposed to happen. Jughead cursed himself as he held his fathers body closer, thoughts swarming his mind. His dad had never been the perfect father; goodness knows his drinking habit was bad enough in itself, not to mention his sometimes-violent behavior. But he was never abusive, and even though their past was rough he was making an effort to be there for his son. FP had done so much for him, from telling him to stay after the failed birthday party, to confessing to a crime he didn’t commit. He did it all to protect and help Jughead, even when he didn’t deserve it. And after his near death experience his dad was more protective than ever, keeping a sharp eye on his son when he thought he wasn’t looking. Now FP had taken the knife that had been intended for Jughead, and while the attacker ran off he lay bleeding in his sons arms. Fury at the criminal coursed through Jughead, but more than that he was angry with himself; angry that his father had been hurt, when it should have been him. His dad had felt enough pain in his lifetime, and after all he’d done it should be his turn to rest, his turn to be protected. He should have protected him, he should be the one taking the hits, making the sacrifices, and fighting the big fights. He was the Serpent King for God’s sake! When the Serpents needed something, he’d get it. If his friends were being shot at, he’d take every bullet for them. If his dad were in danger, he’d protect him. But not this time, this time the roles he’d made were reversed, and his dad had been stabbed. 

His hot anger faded, replaced with a deadly cold fury and a wrath that could shake the earth. Something shifted in his mind then, turning his sea blue eyes a dark shade of green, and switching his brain from teen to serpent. Enough was enough. Jughead pulled his father closer, one hand cradling his head while the other pulled out a switchblade, his muscles tightening all the while. If anyone so much as touched his dad, he would end them. Protect. Defend. Guard. These words echoed through his mind as his instincts kicked in, and the world around him shrunk as he readied himself for the coming attackers. The Sinners had been nothing but trouble since they came to Riverdale, and now the gang had taken things too far. No doubt they’d be back to finish the job, but they wouldn’t like what they found. 

If anyone had been there they would have been astonished at the transformation they saw, watching as the dark haired boy morphed into a vicious creature. By the time the Sinners arrived, he was no longer Jughead Jones, the pale teen boy soaked in sarcasm. No, this was the Serpent King. Coiled around his fathers’ body. His beanie was nowhere in sight leaving his ebony hair hanging wild, while fury poured from his deadly green orbs. A shining “fang” in his hand ready to strike at the slightest provocation, and an aura of danger surrounding him, any smart person would be running. But the Sinners simply sauntered up, ignoring the waves of “Die in hell” coming off the teen, and beginning to jeer.

“Well this is a shame! See, we were hoping to snuff out the nosy brat, not the idiot sheriff.” The leaders high voice dripped with smugness as he pretended to ignore Jughead’s presence. “I suppose it’s just as well. Since they’re both here, what do you guys say we finish off two snakes with one stone?” Cheers and roars of approval met his words, as the Sinners moved forwards, clearly eager to deal out punishment. The first guy swung out unexpectedly, obviously planning to earn some glory by knocking out an armed enemy. But no sooner had his fist gotten close than there was a sickening SHK, like a blade being sheathed, only instead of a scabbard the switchblade had found its way into the guys hand. Just as quick as he had struck, Jughead withdrew his knife, cold fury shining in his eyes as a curse ripped from the Sinner’s throat. Stumbling backward he and the others stared at the teen in shock, having not expected such a swift reaction. 

“Damn brat sure bites like a snake!” the man spat, pain clear in his face as he wrapped his hand in a rag, retreating to the back of the crowd. 

“He won’t be biting after this!” Artech, the second in command yelled, anger in his voice as he ran at Jughead, a metal bat raised high. No sooner had it come within a foot of the teen than it was knocked out of the brute’s hands. Everyone’s eyes followed the bat as it flew a good five feet away, bouncing and rolling to a stop in front of a near by lamppost. The Sinners turned back to Jughead obviously shocked, and for good reason. Jughead’s leg was still frozen in the air from the powerful kick it had just executed, completely defying his “Brains over Brawn” philosophy and appearance. Even as the gang watched though, it snapped back -fast as a serpent’s tail- to rest under FP’s lower back, providing much need support to the unconscious man. The teen’s head raised slightly and his grip on his father tightened as he arranged himself so that he could move more easily. Fire smoldered in those now shockingly dark green eyes, and his next words were a venomous hiss, promising death to any who disobeyed.

“The next one to try that loses the arm. If any of you so much as touch him, I will end you. All of you!” In that moment, with nothing but a switchblade to protect him, he didn’t look like much more than a scared teen. So of course, the Sinners didn’t take the threat seriously, but anyone who knew Jughead knew that for some Sinners, this would be their last night walking the earth.


	2. Like Lambs to the Slaughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update soon did I say? Yeaaahhh no. School's been keeping me busy for the most part, but I wrote another rather short chapter. Stuff's gonna happen soon, I just can't figure out what i wanna do with this yet.

The leader –Karma- rolled his eyes, laughing into the silence  
following the boy’s statement.

“Wow! You’ll end us? With what, that twig?”

He jeered at the teen, gesturing to the knife gripped in Jughead’s  
right hand, and then turned his back, addressing his gang.

“Right, of course! Because one against twenty is definitely in his  
favor! Are we seriously gonna walk away cause of a pipsqueak blabbing  
threats? Well, are we?”

A chorus of No’s greeted his question, yelled with a lot more  
enthusiasm than there had been in the air a second ago. He was working  
them up, and it was working too well for any sane person to feel  
encouraged. But Jughead wasn’t sane, because goodness knows he’d been  
through too much crap to fully keep his mind in one piece. With his  
piercing eyes working with twenty-twenty accuracy he could see it;  
Karma was giving working himself up just as much as he was his gang.  
The leader had seen something in the young Serpent King, and that  
something had scared him, even if his words didn’t.

Karma turned, and every Sinner readied their weapons as he did,  
showing that they didn’t intend to leave either of the two alive. “You  
know, we were just gonna kill ya straight up. No fuss, no problem. But  
then your old man had to take the hit for you, and after you hurt my  
boys, and with that little threat of yours, well…” Karma cracked his  
knuckles, pulling a spike scattered metal rod from his belt loop.  
“You’re gonna beg for death before we’re done, brat!” Jughead’s senses  
all shot up to one-hundred, and for a second he saw and heard  
everything; The Sinners laughing, Karma raising his weapon, the clouds  
swirling over head ominously, and FP forcing out another ragged  
breath. Then, everything froze. In that moment Jughead felt the fear  
sizzling away into nothing, the fury burning brighter into a blaze of  
wrath, and he practically saw his humanity slipping away as his  
serpent instincts kicked in. But what he sensed most keenly was the  
sickening deja vu of the situation. The angry gang, the loved one(s)  
in danger, and the impossible odds, all flashing like neon signs in  
his minds eye.

No. This is different. That was then, and this is now.

He had trained, unknown to almost anyone, and he had learned. Learned  
to defend and attack in hand-to-hand combat, with blades, and  
opponents larger than you. Every skill he could gain, he did obtain.  
Why? Because after the Ghoulies he had been terrified of anything like  
that ever happening again, and he knew his dad had been too. This was  
different, this time he wasn’t defenseless, and this time he had  
someone to actively protect. He wasn’t the prey, he was the predator,  
and this snake was ready to strike. Even as he thought, Jughead felt  
the ground rumble signaling the Sinners’ approach.

Breathing in, Jughead Jones closed his eyes, knowing that he would not  
let anyone hurt his father, even if he had to kill or be killed to do  
it. He breathed out, and the Serpent King opened eyes; He was ready.

The earth seemed to shake as the Sinners charged, and suddenly  
everything sped back to normal like that one breath had been the  
release button to unfreeze time. A crowbar came within an inch of  
Jughead’s face, and he bent backward limbo style to avoid it, snapping  
back just in time to slash the woman’s throat as she readied herself  
for another swing. She stumbled backward, choking and clawing at her  
neck as the others rushed past her. One down, just 19 to go. It wasn’t  
exactly an encouraging thought, but Jughead didn’t have time to think.  
In an instant there was three more Sinners taking the place of the  
downed one, and each held a deadly instrument; One had a kitchen  
knife, the second carried a wicked shard of bone, and the third  
grasped a whip tightly in her hands.

The whip lashed forward, snapping painfully against Jug’s cheekbone  
and leaving a small cut and growing swelling in it’s wake. A low hiss escaped Jughead, and his eyes flicked from side to side as the other two started circling around him, readying their weapons to hit him while he was distracted.  
So they were scared. If they thought they could take him out easily they’d all pile on and beat him to a pulp, but they weren’t doing that. No, they were playing it carefully, having someone with a long distance weapon distract him while two others snuck around to stab him in the back. They wanted to play dirty? Two could play at that game.  
The woman pulled back and lashed out again, clearly expecting to land another stinging blow on her target with an evil smile already stretching her thin face. In fact it seemed as though her comrades were confident in their scheme as well, seeing as Jug could practically feel them relaxing from their positions behind him while the whip flew at him. This time he was ready. Faster than lightning his arm shot up to protect his face, allowing the tough leather cord to wind around it painfully, and giving Jug time to reach into his pocket with his other hand. The smile froze on the woman’s face and twisted into a snarl of rage as she yanked on the handle, trying angrily to take her weapon back from the thin teen, and at the same time hoping to unbalance him. It came as a great shock to her when that exact thing happened; only in complete reverse.  
With a strength he shouldn’t have the Serpent boy ripped her whip away from her, unbalancing her in the process and causing her to trip over her ridiculously high-heeled black boots. In the shocked pause that followed, Jughead unwound the cord from his forearm and used it to tie FP’s jacket more securely around his punctured torso, feeling hot blood poor over his tense hands as he did. Aaannnddd that was it, that was all the time he had to spare. Gripping his switchblades in blood-soaked palms, the teen turned as the men behind him attacked as one, and for just a second he swore he could hear Penny laughing from somewhere in the back of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, sorry it was so short. I'll try to update in the next year, ya know? :)


	3. Blood in The Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't threaten a king's people

The kitchen knife came flying at Jughead, driven forward with vicious killing intent by the arm attached to it. In a split second decision he ducked, folding himself in half over his father in a clearly protective move, and clenching his fists tighter around cold steel. Now! In an instant he snapped upright, thin blades sinking deep into the arm and twisting cruelly before pulling out just as swiftly, leaving two bloody holes side by side. The man screamed in pain, jerking back and the dropping the knife as he cradled the damaged limb to his chest, whimpering curses through clenched teeth. 

Pale teen or not, the Serpent knew how to bite, and he’d torn the tendons around the guy’s elbow joint to prove it. Apparently Idiot Number 2 didn’t get that, and somehow believed that by attacking right after his buddy he could take the kid by surprise. Sharpened bone raised high he slashed downwards, aiming for the brat’s thin neck in an attempt to get the “Killing blow” award from Karma. Ebony hair rustled, and furious green orbs glinted as Jug’s head whipped around to face his would-be killer. Lean arms latched onto his opponent and in one fluid motion he threw Idiot #2 over his shoulder, slamming him down hard on the asphalt opposite of where he’d last stood, and snatching the bone from his shock-loosened hands. Before the thug had the chance to recover the Serpent boy drove it deep into his stomach, blood squelching around his already-red hands and anger dripping from his eyes while he hissed a warning to the Sinners.

“Leave now, and maybe, maybe, you can save him before he bleeds out.”

Mercy. He was giving them a chance to survive, to leave now and make it out alive. Why? His veins thrummed with fury and hate ricocheted around his brain, lending speed to his limbs and strength to his bones. Maybe it was the blonde angel on his shoulder telling him he didn’t have to be like them, gently whispering that he should give them a chance to be smart. Or perhaps it was the small boy inside of him, cowering in the back of his mind and crying over his fathers bleeding body, whimpering that they needed to get him to a hospital. Whatever it was was just wasting his breath, because the Sinners roared, every last one of them charging toward him with evil in their hearts and murder in their eyes. The pale boy raised himself off of the ground, shifting his sneakered feet to crouch protectively over his dying father with one purpose in mind: Protect. Protect. PROTECT. The Serpent King bared his fangs.

The first Sinner crashed into him, and was just as quickly thrown off, his own blade protruding from his side as he stumbled to the ground, a soft gasp escaping his lips. Another one leaped forward, raising a rusty ax as maniacal laughter spewed forth from him, and swinging down with brutal force at the dark haired boy. In a movement too fast for anyone to see he was tossed to the side, landing hard on the asphalt as his laughter trailed off into a gurgling moan. The axe shaft stuck out from his shoulder where it had been gruesomely sheathed, quivering slightly as he trembled. A woman dashed forwards dragging her twin sister with her, both wielding sharpened crowbars with malicious intent as they hacked downward, aiming for- CRACK! CRUNCH! A scream rent the night air as metal dug through flesh, searching for bone and tearing muscles to ribbons as it went. Two bodies hit the floor.

The twins lay prone, their arms were pointing at odd angles and their mangled hands twitched as red flowed from their slashed throats, splashing gently onto the ground while their hearts struggled to keep them alive. They hadn’t been aiming for Jughead. No, these girls were smart and they knew what they wanted, choosing instead to head straight for FP’s unprotected face in an attempt to take the teen by surprise. It had left them wide open to attack, and no one could have predicted just how brutal that assault would be.

“How. Dare. You.” The words were tiptoeing down the line between icy hiss and fiery roar, practically screaming death as the Serpent’s hands shook with rage. “You think you’re smart, aiming for him instead of me? You twisted little bitches think that trying to kill him again is somehow a good idea? How in the hell in those empty holes you call skulls, did it make sense to do that?” His voice was hoarse with anger, rising in volume as his eyes burned holes into the Sinners’ ugly faces. “I’m going to kill you.” Thunder rumbled in the warm summer air, and lightning cracked down nearby, rolling echoes falling in sink with Jughead’s voice as he screamed. “I’m going to kill you!”

Time was gone. Sense was gone. Thought was gone. Weapons were whirling, yells pierced the air, and a low hissing could be heard, all while torrents of rain poured down on the battlefield below. The gang formed a rough circle, jackets whipping in the wind as they battered relentlessly at the center where, standing over his father’s limp body, a boy fought for his life. No, not a boy, a Serpent. Lithe muscles rippled under his pale skin, dark leather crinkled as rivulets of water flooded down to soak into his ripped jeans, and blood dripped from his hands. Wet ebony hair framed his clenched jaw, as his poisonous green eyes roiled with wrath and sharp hisses escaped his gritted teeth. He was never still, twisting and twirling as attacks came at him from all sides, silver steel was stained red as he struck out, slashing at the Sinners who dared to touch something he loved. A few feet in any direction was all he had, constrained to the small area around FP in order to protect him, leaving very little room to maneuver. It didn’t matter. A bat came swinging at him, and he back flipped over it. A knife flew at his stomach, and he jumped. Bullet? Duck. Machete? Dodge and round kick. Like a snake he always came back to coil around his father, dealing out vicious vengeance to anyone who dared to attack. So everyone, then. 

Sharp pain stabbed at Jughead’s throat and warm liquid seeped down over his Adam’s apple, staining his white skin scarlet. He’d been hit. Sure he had plenty of bruises and a few small cuts from close misses, but now a knife had gotten past his defenses, and it had gone for the kill. He could feel his lifeblood bubbling from the gash, and in his moment of distraction the Sinner came back for another hit, slashing at the wound with the smile of victory pulling at lips. A bloody hand shot up to brush the blow away, and the Sinner growled frustration, reaching out and grabbing the teen by the throat. Jughead gasped, weak breathes pushing past his lips as he frantically squirmed to get out of Karma’s grip. No, this couldn’t be it, he couldn’t die here. If he could just get air into his lungs, if his feet would simply touch the ground, then he could keep going. Black sneakers scraped at the asphalt in an attempt to find purchase and his long black lashes fluttered as he tilted his head up, rain water pouring over his face and into his throat, choking him as he gulped for air. 

There in the dark of night, street lamps bathed the road in pools of flickering golden light, and thunder roared of the fury trapped in the body of a boy, while lightning struck with rage to match the Serpent’s. Bodies littered the pavement, strewn about in a haphazard circle like the toys of a child, torn and twisted beyond recognition. Blood flowed in rivulets through the street, mingling with the rain as it spattered down on the sun-warmed ground, and pooling in potholes like bleeding bullet holes. In the middle of the circle a dark boy hung suspended by a sinners hand, weakly struggling against the forces against him in a final act of defiance. 

Jughead’s vision began to darken, his once-sharp mind dulling to a grey mush as his lungs feebly spasmed in their quest oxygen. Air. All he needed was air. Just a breathe, the smallest taste. Who am I kidding? I can’t take all these guys by myself. This it it, this is how I die. Rain pelted down, soaking through his already sodden clothes, and smarting in his darkening eyes as his lashes fluttered, and stinging as they struck his pale face. Stinging while they hit my face? What does that remind me of? Pain. The heavy weight of death trying to pull him down, as strong arms gently lifted him up. Slow swaying steps crunching through leaves on a forest floor, and muffled sobs from somewhere above. Salty drops stinging in the cuts dotting his face. Dad. He was right there, just a foot behind his elevated form, bleeding out as the rain poured down on his unprotected face. If I die, it’ll be like that over again, but this time I’ll really be dead. No, that can’t happen! Wait. He’s dying too. This time my death won’t help anyone. There it was. If dying wouldn’t help anyone, and more than that it would kill his father, then he couldn’t die. Not today.

One shaking hand gripped his last switchblade (stored in the lining of his jacket), and with all the strength he had left he sunk the steel deep into Karma’s hand. The Sinner let loose a shriek of pain, and his hand automatically let go of the teen’s bleeding neck, allowing him to drop to the ground. Only he didn’t drop. With an animalistic growl the dark haired boy lunged at Karma, red-stained hands gripping his shoulders as he struck at the leader’s throat, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. The man’s screams rent the air as the pearly whites shredded at his muscles, but any sound was suddenly cut off as the young serpent’s fangs tore through his trachea. A choked gurgle escaped the last Sinner as he crumpled to the ground, twitching and desperately clutching at his neck, as if any amount of pressure could stop this bleeding, as if his sinner’s hands could save him now.

Jughead stumbled backwards, alternating gasping for air and swallowing blood as he dropped to the pavement beside his father’s still body, and gently brushing FP’s hair away from his eyes with shaking hands. The wrath was gone. The fury, and hatred, and violence were gone. Left in their place was pure, and unadulterated desperation. The next person to look at his father wrong would die, no matter their intent or identity. Adrenaline pumped through the thin teen’s veins, and he trembled as his bruised throat choked for air around the thick liquid coating the inside of it and red dribbled from the shallow cut on his neck.

Rain pelted down on the two dark figures, and it was doing it’s best to soak them through to the bone, but one was already drenched in blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if things are a little mixed around, i tried my best. Thanks for reading, I'm happy with how it's progressing so far! If you have any questions, please ask!


	4. Look Me In My Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About halfway through this chapter I ran out of planned plotline so whatever comes next is gonna be a surprise for all of us. But I'm really happy with how this turned out, and so I hope you enjoy!

Sweet Pea’s boots splashed through yet another puddle, spraying more water onto his already soaked jeans as he, Fangs, Toni and Red hurried around another corner in their desperate search. They’d been looking for more than an hour, and the more streets they trooped down the more hopeless the situation seemed to become to the red-headed north-sider beside him. Sure he was a friend of Jones, but this guy had clearly never been on a Body Hunt, as the Serpents called it, wringing his hands with a nervousness that set Sweet Pea’s already frayed nerves on edge. A growl rumbled deep in his chest as Red uttered the same words he’d been saying for the past sixty-one minutes(He’d counted)

“This isn’t working, we’ve been looking for too long, there has to be a quicker way to find Jug.”

Sweet Pea twitched his head in irritation, ignoring the words as he had for the last hour. Didn’t the idiot get it? Jones and FP were nowhere to be found, their phones were destroyed or dead because tracking had been impossible, and not only had night fallen but now it was pouring rain too. The two hadn’t told anyone where they were going, and since no one seemed to know even where their last location had been, -besides of course their house- this was the only option they had.

Jerking a hand up, the tall Serpent swiped rain from his eyes as he peered around, hoping to see a glimpse of black leather or a grey beanie poking out from a dumpster. He’d done this plenty of time when someone had vanished, and whether he found Toni bruised from her uncle and crying on top of a building, or the corpse of a murdered Serpent in an alley, he completed the mission. Find them, no matter how long it takes or how hard it is.

Rounding another corner they stepped onto a larger street, and turning to their right they trudged onward, stumbling over potholes until a cry rang out. Sweet Pea whipped around in time to see Fangs pull a knife from the sole of one boot, wincing as he pocketed it. They were lucky it hadn’t gone deep, and the strong teen only grimaced slightly as he put the foot down and continued on, complaining as he did.

“What the hell? I mean I get stepping on a nail or something, but yeesh, a frickin kitchen knife? And I thought the Southside was bad for leaving dangerous stuff on the ground.” 

Toni stumbled against him, clutching at his sleeve to steady herself as she swore, reaching down to grab an axe that had apparently grown out of the road beneath them. “Shit, this is ridiculous! I thought you said this was the nice part of town Red.”

The Northsider shook his head in confusion, water spraying from his drenched hair as he stared around, probably trying to see if there were any more hidden dangers laying in wait for them. Ignoring the continued grumbling of his fellow Serpents and the confused mumbling of Red, Sweet Pea began to pick up the pace, gaze tearing over the wet asphalt before them, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickle in discomfort. This was wrong. No way were there two potentially deadly tools just laying around to trip someone up, it just wasn’t natural.

The dark teen’s head whipped around at the sound of steel scraping the ground, only to see Red picking up a baseball bat embedded with nails; very bloody looking nails. Toni gasped as a body came into view ahead of them, sprawled out without a care in the world with a machete sheathed in his chest. What the hell?

“Holy shit!” Fangs who had been looking further ahead than any of them, followed that up with a stream of expletives that could’ve sent any grandma running. Laid out before them was a literal massacre, with corpses spread haphazardly around like they’d fallen from the sky along with the rain, and weapons of every sort either in them or around them. 

The four teens gaped as they stumbled forwards, eyes skimming the blood puddles being slowly deluded with the water falling from the heavens. There had to be at least fifteen of them laying around, and each one looked dead as a door-nail, their bloodless faces bathed in the golden light from the street lamps. What had happened here? Had a gang war broken out between two visiting parties, or had someone with a machine gun stepped in to murder a bunch of truckers?

Toni bent down and peeled back the sleeve of one unfortunate soul, revealing a skull tattoo as she did and jerking back in disgust. “Sinners!” She spat, anger dripping from the word while Red looked at her in confusion.

“Jughead told you about a group causing him some trouble recently right? Well this is them.” Fangs did his best to explain it to the dripping Northsider, once again proving his kindness in all situations. “All of them it looks like.” He added, frowning as he too pondered what could have done this. The Sinners were assholes, but they definitely posed a decent threat to anyone who might consider taking them in an all-out assault.

Sweet Pea let his gaze wonder around, analyzing the Sinners’ pattern of death as he did, and his eyes followed it the apparent center of the body explosion. Then he froze. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he couldn’t think; that was FP on the ground, no question about it, he’d know that shape anywhere. Was he dead too? Had the Sinners attacked him? What had-

Kneeling beside his retired leader there was another rain-drenched figure, leaning over FP in a way that could be either defensive of threatening for all he could see in the dim lighting. Taking step forward Sweet Pea squinted blearily, but trying to making out the figures in this downpour was next to impossible and he was forced to move closer. Seeming to realize that he’d seen something they hadn’t the three teens behind him went quiet, slowly moving to flank him as he approached the two dark figures.

Only a few feet away now, the scene was revealed in all it’s gory horror as it rolled out before the four of them, sending cold flooding through their veins that had nothing to do with the rain. Laying motionless on the ground was FP, blood staining the cloth tied around his middle from an obvious wound of some kind, and as they watched he drew in a shaky breath. Toni let out a breathe she hadn’t realized she was holding at this revelation, but any relief she felt vanished as she took in the second shape.

Jughead was kneeling behind his father, beanie nowhere to be seen as his dripping curls fell into his eyes and his teeth clenched. In one shaking hand was a stained switchblade and, peering closer they saw that both his hands were drenched in blood, seemingly unaffected by the rain trying to wash it off. The teen’s eyes had a feverish glint to them, and as he raised his head to look at them they could not see there friend staring back, but instead a vicious serpent, ready to strike at anything and everything that moved.

Fangs gasped quietly from the back of the group, for as their leader shifted his head he saw a scarlet slit carved into his pale neck, slowly leaking blood as it tried to clot. It obviously wasn’t that deep, or the emo teen would be dead, but the sight brought bile to the back of Fangs throat, as it told him just how close to death his friend had paced that night.

Toni’s small cry of horror brought him back to reality, and the kind serpent looked to where she was staring, finding yet another crumpled corpse with water rinsing away the last of his life blood. Only this was the leader, Karma or something like that, and if they had thought the other’s looked bad it was nothing compared to this. 

His hands lay on the ground close to where they’d probably been clutching at his neck. His neck that was now nothing but torn ligaments and tattered skin, with clotted bits of gore being washed away as they watched. To his left, Fangs heard Archie gag as he caught sight of the man’s trachea, clean torn out by whatever had done the guy in, left to sit unattended near to where the two Jones’ sat.

A chill crawled up Sweet Pea’s spine, and he turned in a full circle, surveying the slaughter that surrounded them. It was like an explosion of death, and with explosions there was a fallout and a source, a center where the device that caused it had been. The Sinners were the fallout, and Karma had been the closest to the source, which meant...which meant the trachea laying near the wounded serpents was pointing the way for him. 

Sweet Pea turned, swallowing hard as he did because he knew, they all knew, what had done this. They’d known from the minute they saw him kneeling over his father, and why was he so sure? Because not one of them had uttered a word of comfort to their shaking friend. They’d been afraid too. At least until Red stepped forwards into Jones’ personal space, doing his best not to act horrified as he asked

“Jug? Are you okay? Come on, talk to me buddy.” Archie reached down as he spoke, seeking to place a comforting hand on his friends shoulder, he just wanted to hel-

If it weren’t for Sweet Pea’s quick reflexes Archie might’ve lost the hand, but he felt himself being pulled back just as a glint of silver flashed towards him, singing through the air like death itself. He gasped as he stumbled away, staring in shock at the fear-filled glare currently being aimed at him like a loaded gun by his best friend. His mind whirred, desperately trying to find an answer, a solution, a reason that Jughead had just tried to kill him.

Sweet Pea was faster, continuing to tug him away from the teen on the ground, calling to Fangs and Toni as he did, “Back up, give him some room, at least five feet. Don’t make any sudden movements either, unless you wanna end up with a switchblade in your eye socket.” The two Serpents looked at him strangely but did as they were told, shuffling back while avoiding the scattered corpses.

Shrugging off the taller teen’s grip, Archie turned as his fear turned to anger, yelling to be heard over the rain as asked Sweet Pea, “What the hell just happened? I was trying to help and he almost killed me!” Scrubbing a hand trough his dripping hair, he glanced back to where his friend knelt, a haunted look creeping into his eyes. “It was like he didn’t even recognize me, like he was afraid I’d do something.”

Sweet Pea ran a hand down his face, droplets spraying in it’s wake as he shook his head in frustration. No, not frustration, fear. Fear, and frustration, and anger, and panic, all hammering into his brain as he tried to think. What did he do? He’d never gotten into a situation like this where-

“Hey!” The Northsider’s infuriating voice cut through his panic, and he looked up at the freaked out teen, realizing as he did that Toni and Fangs were also looking to him, alternating between him and Jones. A growl escaped him and he shouted to be heard as he explained,

“He’s stuck in fight or flight mode, specifically the fight part. It’s something that happens to people who have gone through traumatic experiences.” For a second the others just stared at him, frankly taken aback at his sudden well of hidden knowledge. Sighing, he fumbled onward, searching for the right words to explain it without freaking anyone out.

“It can also happens to soldiers who’ve been fighting nonstop for too long,” Someone in his family had been a soldier...understanding dawned in the two Serpent’s eyes as they continued to listen, “The mind kind of short circuits, blocking out any non-essential thoughts and focusing on one primary goal or task. For soldiers it’s fighting, for trauma victims it’s running, surviving.” He had memorized these words, keeping them stored in the back of his mind as he lived everyday, knowing that what had happened hadn’t been their fault.

“So what, he’s stuck trying to kill people?!” If Red didn’t sound so stupid, he might feel for the obviously panicking Northsider, but instead he shook his head in frustration, glancing at the shaking Jones’ and knowing they were running out of time.

“He’s stuck trying to protect his father Red!”

That seemed to do the trick, and the redheaded teen froze, looking towards his friend before asking, “But if he sees us, shouldn’t he let his guard down? I mean he knows we’re not a threat, right?”

They. Didn’t. Have. Time. For. This.

“What the hell about ‘nonessential thoughts’ don’t you get, Red?! He doesn’t recognize us, and he probably sees anything that moves as a threat right now! Hell he might off Ponytail if she got close enough.” It was true, and for a second the arguing teens were both very glad that Betty wasn’t here to witness this. At the moment the blonde was a little busy dealing with her psycho mother to be facing anything as nuts as this.

Archie hung his head, and the idiot sounded pretty defeated as he asked, “What can we do?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question. What could they do? No, what could he do? A wet sigh escaped him as the air blew water droplets from his lips, and turning to Fangs and Toni he called “Toni, phone an ambulance, FP’s gonna need it by the looks of him. Fangs, drag that scumbag Karma away from Jones, it’s not doing him any good to see his handiwork laid out in front of him.” Both Serpents nodded, setting about their assigned tasks with a will, and he was just about to move forward when he felt a tap on his shoulder,

“What can I do?” Damn him, Red had that desperately hopeful look in his gaze as he tried to help take care of his best friend. Sweet Pea could feel a headache building behind his eyes, and putting a hand on the Northsider’s shoulder he stated,

“There’s not much you can do Red, other than maybe call the Sheriff’s department and have them bring some body bags.” The teen sagged a little at that, but nodded in apparent understanding, turning away and pulling out his phone. 

Okay, time for the gamble of a lifetime then. 

Once again wiping the rain from his eyes, Sweet Pea began to pull off his Serpent jacket, carefully folding it and setting it on the puddled ground behind him. In his experience, people looked much less threatening in just a tshirt, than they did shrouded in tough black leather. Perhaps it was the fact that more skin was showing, thus causing them to seem more vulnerable, but whatever it was he sure hoped it worked now. 

Ever so slowly he inched forwards, hunching his shoulders so that he appeared smaller and keeping his hands empty and open at his sides, so that he wouldn’t pose a threat and didn’t look like he was reaching for FP. At this point it was obvious that the next person that made the slightest move towards the retired Serpent would be dead before they hit the ground. He saw the boy’s ebony curls whip up to face him and he waited a second before continuing forwards, moving with the sort of caution you used when approaching a wounded animal. One step, wait, keep going.

“Jones?” At this quietly muttered word the teen jerked slightly, and Sweet Pea saw his bloody hand grip tighter around the switchblade. He was only two feet away now and he could just make out Jughead’s mouth, stained red with a sickeningly familiar substance.

Oh. He should of been fighting the urge to vomit as his stomach twisted, but instead he was left battling against the pain that stabbed at his heart. The trachea, Karma’s demolished neck, it all made sense. Jones had torn out the man’s throat. With his teeth. It really should have made him sick, but all he felt was sadness, and an unrelenting agony at the thought of his friend being forced to go to those lengths. 

Another small step towards the cornered teen and Sweet Pea saw his arm jerk, slashing out in an attempt to warn him off; like a snake threatening someone approaching it’s nest.

“Get. The Hell. Away from him!” The rasping voice started faintly but rose in volume until it was a hoarse yell. 

Ah hell Jones, what happened to you? The words that would’ve sounded so rude out loud only sounded haunted and sad in his head, as he stared at the desperate boy in front of him. Okay, focus! You can feel bad later, but right now FP needs help and his boy won’t last much longer in the state he’s in.

“Whoa, easy Jones, it’s just me. I’m not gonna touch him alright, I swear.” Sweet Pea continued to murmur soft reassurances, letting his voice drone on into a light background noise, and hoping that the teen would hear him. “It’s alright, no one’s gonna hurt him anymore. The threat’s gone, there’s no danger here.” He was a foot away now, and he slowly shuffled forwards another inch as two venomously green orbs looked up at him, rain water dripping into them as the Serpent eyed him warily.

A flash of fear was suddenly apparent in Jughead’s eyes, and Sweet Pea only just realized his mistake in time, stepping back quickly to avoid the shining steel headed his way. Mentally cursing himself, the dark teen looked at the newly-created two foot distance between them. He’d stood too tall to seem harmless, and Jones had reacted, seeing a looming threat and lashing out.

Keeping his movements gradual, Sweet Pea once again edged toward the injured pair, crouching as he did so that he was almost on Jughead’s level, and muttering soft words of apology.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s okay, I won’t do that again, you’re not in any danger. You can trust me, Jughead.” Perhaps it was the bizarre occurrence of Sweet Pea using his first name, but at his last words the teen tilted his head slightly, and was it just his imagination or had the knife dropped an inch? Taking advantage of the undivided attention the Serpent King was giving him, Sweet Pea kept talking, telegraphing his every movement as he changed tactics.

“I’m gonna move towards you a little bit now. Is that okay?” He ceased in his actions, waiting with bated breathe as the teen seemed to consider his request. Consider. He was actually thinking instead of running on pure instinct and desperation! This could work, it would work. 

Ever so faintly, Sweet Pea saw Jughead’s head dip in what could only be a nod, and the steel relaxed even further in his grip as his eyes rose to watch him. Shuffling forward slowly, the older teen was now only a foot away, and it took everything he had to keep his elation hidden as he quietly continued

“Thank you, I know how hard that had to be. Now I’m gonna come a little closer to you, I won’t do anything I promise. Is that okay?” Again, the younger teen nodded, his posture slowly relaxing more as he watched the person he’d previously identified as a threat inch gradually closer.

Half a foot away and Sweet Pea was barely breathing, knowing that his next words would make the difference between him being stabbed and FP getting to the hospital on time. Looking the terrified Serpent dead in the eyes, he spoke as kindly as he could remember doing in years.

“Jughead? Hey, it’s okay, easy. I’m not gonna hurt you or your dad, I promise. I would never hurt you.” The dark serpent’s voice shook as he slowly reached towards the teen, ever so carefully touching the bloodied hand that clutched the switchblade. The clenched fist shifted faintly, but other than that made no move to stab him, and Jughead’s breaths wavered more than ever.

Cautiously Sweet Pea began to uncurl the pale fingers in his grasp, letting his other hand reach up to rest on the frightened teen’s shoulder. His next words were so soft that the wind should have carried them off, but they were spoken with such conviction that not even a dragon could have blown them away.

“He’s okay, he’s safe. No one is gonna hurt him, you made sure of that. You protected him. It’s over.”

To anyone passing by those few phrases would’ve seemed like cheap counsel indeed, but to the shivering boy kneeling beside his father’s unconscious body they might as well have been the gospel. He’d done it. His father was safe, and no one would hurt him ever again if he had anything to say about it. It was over.   
The switchblade clattered to the ground, and as if a button had been pushed Jughead toppled forwards, head dropping as the weight of the last two hours collapsed on him like a building. In an instant Sweet Pea’s arms were around him, pulling him gently against himself as the teen’s shoulders slumped. Carefully he unfolded Jughead’s legs from the position they’d no doubt fallen asleep in, laying them out to the side as he himself dropped to the asphalt, kneeling and allowing the serpent leader’s arms to loop around him in embrace.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re safe.” He muttered quietly, but the shivering boy only whimpered slightly, tucking his head into Sweet Pea’s collarbone as his dark eyelashes fluttered weakly. The poor kid was exhausted, seeking comfort and warmth alike as he clutched at the older teen, gripping him with such desperation that you’d think he was the only thing keeping him grounded. Because he was.

Sweet Pea could distantly hear the siren of an ambulance, and far behind that a swore he heard a police car, but he shook his head faintly, ignoring the unimportant sounds. He held his friend closer and, feeling his soaked frame shiver against him, he leaned his head down to rest on top of Jughead’s, rubbing soothing circles in his back as he murmured gently

“Shhh, it’s okay, you’re gonna be alright.” His voice cracked on the last word, but he kept going, breaths ruffling his friend’s hair as he softly whispered, “I’m here, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll protect you both with my life, I promise.”

Everything drifted out of focus then, as the rain seemed to slow and other noises faded into the background. The ambulance arrived, and FP was carried away as the paramedics shouted through the downpour, and only a few muffled words reached the pair’s ears.

“...stab wound...good tourniquet...blood loss...transfusion...surgery stat...”

Worry stabbed briefly at Sweet Pea’s heart, threatening to draw him back to the real world before he heard Toni talking to the paramedics, and caught the words “...got to him in time luckily, if he’s strong he’ll pull through.” FP was strong alright, and no amount of mere blood loss would take him from his son, not without him knowing that Jughead was okay.

Police sirens sounded even as the ambulance’s engine noises faded away, and cops began to swarm the scene, taking pictures and setting up yellow caution tape. Wait. Pictures, evidence, tape? Those kinds of things led to questions, which led to accusations, which led to handcuffs and courthouses and eventually jail. They couldn’t take Jones to jail, he wouldn’t let them.

His grip tightened on his friend, and he once again drifted into a frozen state, both boys clutching each other as tightly as they could while the world spun around them and rain spattered down, washing away the blood of sinners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your kudos and comments! Feedback pretty much fuels my creativity so please comment about any likes, dislikes or questions you have!


	5. Tell me Everything's not Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day? What madness is this? Well the Corona virus is keeping nice a cozy all locked up in my house, so I have literally nothing else to do. Sorry this chapter's a little slow, but there'll be more Jughead next chapter I promise!

Eventually Sweet Pea opened his eyes to see Fangs’ worried face hovering in front of him, eyes wide and mouth moving, yet while no words came out the message was clear. He saw himself moving as if he wasn’t in his own body, carefully lifting Jones into his arms, pulling him securely against his chest while Toni led him to a car. After that his mind shut off, joining his ears in quitting their job and leaving him with only sights, feelings, and smells.

Later when he tried to recall that period of time he’d see dark buildings flashing by, red and blue lights flickering behind them, dripping ebony curls resting on his shoulder, and pale bloodied hands clutching at his shirt. Bright lights would prick at his eyes, and white would surround him as he thought back to that night. He was told that Fred Andrews had driven the min his truck and a patrol car had escorted them to the hospital, that he’d growled at anyone who tried to touch the shivering form in his arms, and that it’d taken both Toni and Fangs to drag him away from the stretcher taking his friend from him.

He didn’t remember that, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get the information to connect with what he had experienced, but he did recall the smells. Blood and wet clothing, car exhaust and something that was both like wood and home, and more rain. The scent of chemicals and illness was forever drifting around the back of his head, seeming to float through the air whenever he thought back to the incident.

Sweet Pea only came back to himself when he felt Toni and Fangs’ hands gripping his biceps, and heard their shaky voices telling him that he’d done all he could, that Jughead would be okay. A great weight seemed to drop on his shoulders, and for a second he couldn’t breathe, stumbling back into his friends’ arms as he stared into nothing. It was like Jones had become part of him, and having him torn away felt like losing a limb, leaving him unbalanced with pain thrumming through his veins. 

He was aware of his friends pulling him gently towards the waiting area, easing him into a chair and sitting down on either side of him to wait. All he could do was stare at the hallway he knew Jones had been carted down, wondering if his friend had been awake enough to realize that while the doctors took him away, they’d taken Sweet Pea’s oxygen along with him. He came to the sudden conclusion that the ability to breathe was seriously unrated and underappreciated by the population at large, because no matter what he did he couldn’t quite-

A hand on his back brought him dizzily stumbling into the present, and he realized he was gazing glassily at the floor as Toni’s voice instructed, “Breathe, Sweets. Come on, just one breath and we’ll go from there, okay? In, and out, just try and copy me.” He heard her breathe loudly in and out once to show him how and, in an attempt to stop the fire someone had lit in his lungs, he followed. Stuttering slightly at first, but slowly gaining a steady rhythm as he went, he drew in and...

He breathed. 

Shaky wisps of air made their way in and out of his mouth as the hand continued to rub his back, and he felt rather than heard Toni’s smile when she said, “Nice job Sweets, give it a couple of weeks and we might have you talking too.” As usual, she used humour to hide the worry creeping into her voice and tried to quip her way into his heart. Translation? You’re scaring us, please say something.

Say something? He didn’t have anything to say, couldn’t think of anything that might sound even remotely like he was okay. Like he was still his rough, grumpy self that didn’t care if no one liked him. What did she want him to tell them?

Sorry, I feel like someone’s chopped of my arm and breathing is the hardest thing I can remember doing?

I used to hate Jones, and now I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t pull through?

Sure Jones wasn’t in critical condition like FP was, and yeah the cut to his neck would probably be healed up in a couple weeks, but he hadn’t lost his friend physically. Of course that had been it at first, seeing as they’d looked high and low for the emo teen before finally stumbling upon a horror movie brought to life. But looking into those oddly green eyes, filled with venom and fear and hatred? He hadn’t seen his friend anywhere in those bottomless pits, and for a second he’d been sure the guy had finally cracked. For one terrifying moment he’d been certain that Jones was gone for good, lost to the horror of violence like someone else he’d once known.

Now it was Fangs’ turn to put a hand on his knee, calling to him gently as if anything louder would shatter him into a thousand pieces. That ridiculous image brought him back to reality, pulling at his pride as he snarled internally at the idea. Him being fragile? Oh no, no way. 

He slowly raised his head to look Fangs, pulling in a full breath as he wiped water from his eyes with a slightly shaking hand. A look of relief flashed across both his friends’ faces before they quickly pulled them back to neutral, and Toni was the first to speak, doing her best to act as if he didn’t look like he’d collapse at a touch.

“Hey, you back? Thought you’d drifted off to Mars there for a second...” She trailed off as all three realized that they could not, in fact, laugh this off like so many other things they’d used the trick on in the past. Clearing her throat she tried again, keeping her voice low so that only the three of them could hear it, “They’re gonna be okay, Sweets. It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it right now, but it’s true.”

Fangs chimed in with his unflappably perfect optimism, seeing as it wasn’t over the top, but it wasn’t deadpan either. “Seriously, they’re Jones’ man, if anyone can go through that and come out on top it’s them. They’re gonna be fine.” The unspoken phrase echoed from both their statements, hanging in the air before drifting away slowly. He’s gonna be fine.

For their efforts the two got a nod, as their friend pushed his fear to the background, sitting up fully just to slouch in exhaustion. Seeing that he was no longer in danger of passing out from lack of oxygen, they promptly followed suit with Fangs stretching out his long legs while Toni wrung her purple hair out into a nearby trashcan. 

It had been a long day, and a glance to the clock revealed that it was only eleven pm. The night had just begun, and even as they settled down to wait their moment of peace was trampled on by two police officers stepping through the front doors. Aw hell. It was bad enough that they had Red across from them talking quietly to his dad and sending worried glances their way, but now the police were heading their way and they knew from experience how long questioning took.

Toni barely managed to stifle a groan as one of the officers stepped forward, introducing himself as Jefferson and his partner as Amanda, before unnecessarily asking, “Were you three at the crime scene on Proelium Avenue? We’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright.”

Oh yeah, they knew it was unnecessary, otherwise they would’ve waited for an answer before diving in. They knew they’d been there alright. Not that it was exactly hard to tell considering they were soaked through, wore gang-related clothing, and looked about as traumatized as anyone who’d just walked through a graveyard designed by there friend. That, and Sweet Pea had Jughead’s blood on his collarbone and the material of his shirt just bellow it, as well as someone else’s one his jeans from where it’d dripped off of the teen’s hand.

As a matter of fact the cops didn’t want to ask them a few questions, they needed ask them about a hundred, and no, it wasn’t alright, but that wouldn’t stop them even if she said anything. Sighing, Fangs spoke up before Toni could get them arrested with her smart mouth, acting as the level-headed on in the group as he said, “Yeah we were there, but we arrived after whatever took place actually happened, so there’s not much we can tell you.”

Amanda smiled slightly at his innocent response, replying with a professional tone suggesting that she wasn’t just a pretty face. “That’s alright, son. In most cases people know a lot more than they think they do. Just answer the questions as best you can, and it’ll help us out a lot in our investigation.” Fangs sighed, but nodded for her to continue and the interrogation began in earnest, with the Serpent doing his best to answer neutrally.

“How did you find the scene?”

“Do you mean what did it look like, or how did I actually end up stumbling upon it?”

“The second one, sorry for the vague wording.”

“That’s alright. We were looking for our friend.”

“Is your friend the one who came in with you? Why were you looking for him?”

“Yeah, he’s getting checked out right now I guess. We couldn’t reach him by his phone and no one knew where he was.”

“When did you reach the scene, and was your friend there when you arrived?”

The questions kept coming, seeming to stretch on forever but taking no time at all, like they had their own time loop. It was about 10, he was there when they arrived, and no there was no one else alive on the scene besides him and his dad. Yes, his dad was there too, didn’t they see the ambulance? They hadn’t asked so he hadn’t told, and oh they were asking now? Well his dad had been stabbed and that was all he knew so they could get his condition from the hospital. What was his friend’s name? Jughead Jones, and his father was FP Jones.

Fangs ran a hand over his face, fighting the urge to yell at Amanda, and now Jefferson since he’d joined in at some point too. Beside him he saw Toni tear a hand through her slowly drying hair, obviously as annoyed as he was. The cops switched over to her, and he settled down beside Sweet Pea to watch, oblivious of the other boy’s clenched fists.

Toni dove in full force, answering with as little annoyance as she could, but giving as good as she got. Yes she’d counted about twenty bodies, yes she’d seen the man with his trachea torn out, and yes he was the leader. No she didn’t know them, but yeah they’d been bugging her and her friends for some time and she didn’t feel any real grief at their deaths. Whoops. Calm down, Toni. Don’t let them find a motive. What had Jughead been doing? Crying over his fathers bleeding body, what did they think? 

Most of the “Sinners” as she called them(Because it’s what they called themselves, idiots!) had been killed with their own weapons, and while some could have plausibly been suicides, some were out of their reach like impaling them through their backs. What did she think happened? 

At this frustratingly patronizing question, Toni rolled her eyes in annoyance, letting some of her normal sass show as she quipped, “Why are you asking me? Cause I’m in a gang and therefore would know a lot about gang violence? Well I-” Fangs was suddenly giving her a look and the idea of group suicide struck up and inspiration in her brain. Nodding minutely in thanks to him for keeping her focused, she turned back to the cops, quietly stating,

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so snappy, it’s just..been a long day. But, I think I know what happened.”

Amanda looked pitying while Jefferson seemed hopeful, and they coaxed her to continue, saying “Don’t worry about it, we understand. Tell us, what do you think happened?”

“Well, like I said the Sinners have been bothering us for a while and, between all their taunting I noticed that they don’t get along really, like at all. I mean whenever they weren’t actively in a dangerous situation they’d be trying to rip each other’s throats out, you know? And recently I thought I heard Karma arguing with a woman in the gang about not killing kids, and then something about “going for the old man.” Looking back, I’m sure they were thinking about killing Jughead to get at everyone else, but decided to kill FP instead.” 

She let her voice waver in just the right spot and she knew she had them, sniffling as she said brokenly, “He was like a second father to some of us, and the thought that he might die, it’s...” She trailed off as her breath caught her throat. She didn’t have to pretend, because it was true and the idea that FP might not make it was tearing at her heart. Amanda coaxed her to continue, and she did, spinning the lie like a spider’s web.

“Jughead had said something about going to find his dad when we last saw him, and I can only assume that when he found him he’d already been stabbed. Karma doesn’t like loose ends as far as I can tell, so he probably decided to kill Jughead too, only the woman wouldn’t let him. With the two of them arguing I can guarantee that a fight broke out, and it must have turned pretty nasty.” Seeing the disbelief on Jefferson’s face her voice rose slightly as she fought for the lie she believed in, telling them with all the passion she could,

“I know how unlikely it sounds, but trust me, I’ve seen the way they interacted when they were around, and they were falling apart! I’ve seen it before. When I was younger I stumbled into a gang hideout while looking for my cat, and I watched the exact same thing unfold. It’s always about something serious, and it always escalates. One minute they’re talking, the next there’s blood everywhere!”

The cops were nodding, and across from them Toni could see Archie listening, paying attention to the tale she was telling. Giving him a desperate look she pleaded with him silently, remember it and stick to it, we can’t let them know the truth. The redhead gave her a minute nod, and for just a second she didn’t think he was an idiot. Amanda’s next question caught her off guard, and she pulled herself back to the conversation at hand. 

“So you believe that Jughead’s injuries were due to what? Karma trying to kill him?” Toni nodded frantically, latching onto the idea like a lifeline,

“Yes. Karma is the kind of stubborn bastard that would want to go through with something once he’s decided to do it. It makes perfect sense that he’d try to kill Jughead, but he obviously got stopped by the woman or someone who supported her choice.”

Jefferson broke in with a harder query, condescendingly announcing, “If there was an all out fight like you said, then their should have been a live victor, you know someone who came out on top. Yet the two Misters Jones were the only ones alive on the scene. How is that?” Toni froze for a second, but quickly covered it up with a sheepish look saying

“Well, when I arrived there was one other person alive. A woman on the fringes of the group, with her arms outstretched like she’d been trying to crawl away.” Jefferson looked angry and she knew that he was going to ask her why she hadn’t said anything, but she also knew that there was in fact a woman in the position she described. On top of that the woman had an injury that could potentially have taken some time to kill her, meaning Toni’s story was indeed plausible. Holding up her hands she quickly explained, 

“I know, I know I should’ve said something earlier, it’s just that...well when I got there I almost tripped over her, and when I was trying to catch my balance she grabbed me! I, I couldn’t move and she just looked up at me, like she wanted me to help her but I couldn’t move. Then, then she made this terrible sound like her last breath or something and she let go.” Covering her face with her hands, Toni mumbled out her next words brokenly, horror tearing at the edges of her voice as she near whispered,

“I never want to see anything like that again, I, I couldn’t bring myself to mention it because it was just so...so horrible.” She felt Amanda put a hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture, and Jefferson sounded less harsh as he said,

“Thank you Toni, I know reliving things is a terrible experience, but every word counts. You’re idea actually makes a lot of sense, and I was thinking something similar believe it or not. That’s all for now, so we’ll leave to inspect the crime scene some more, but we’ll need to come back to visit the Jones’ tomorrow. Thank you for your time.” He nodded politely to them all, then turned and walked out the door with Amanda in tow.

All three Serpents sagged, and across from them the Andrews’ followed suit, slumping heavily in the uncomfortable chairs as they released a breath. The cops would look at the evidence, use information from people who “knew” the Sinners, and they’d never suspect that a 16 year old had massacred 20 stolid gang members. They’d done it, or more accurately Toni had, and Fangs startled as Sweet Pea uttered his first words since they’d gotten there,

“Nice job, Tiny.”

The words were quiet and raspy, but the use of her childhood nickname gave Toni’s heart a warm feeling, and both she and Fangs settled down to lean happily on their friend’s shoulders, taking comfort in the fact that at least now things were looking up a bit.

All three bolted right out of their seats, heads whipping around in panic and fists clenching in preparation for a fight, as a thunderous roar shook the walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I feel like I should clarify something. Do the tags say Betty is involved? Yes they do. Will she really appear in this fic by anything more than name? Probably not.
> 
> Personally, I have nothing wrong with Bughead, although it is seriously mushy, but I like it just fine. However, I don't write romantic stuff, and I am totally smitten with the idea of platonic intimacy, hence how close Sweet Pea and Jughead are in this fic. I also love the thought of Sweet Pea being a softy at heart, and I write with the thought that they are better friends than the show makes them out to be.
> 
> So no I haven't forgotten about Betty, but because I don't know what to do with her I'm saying she's off dealing with Alice or something insane, cause hey, it's already not canonically correct. Just wanted to make sure y'all get why things are a little off.
> 
> As always, if you have any questions, likes or dislikes, please comment!


	6. Your Son and your daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not easy being a Jones
> 
> This chapter kind of wrote itself since I didn't really plan it out, but I hope you like it.

Nurses were dashing back and forth between rooms, desperately trying to calm the other patients while one very perturbed looking doctor strode purposefully towards a door near the end of the hallway. The shouting hadn’t stopped, and as Fangs, Toni, and Sweet Pea got closer they could make out a little of what was being said.

  
  


“...where is he?”

  
  


“Sir, please calm dow-”

  
  


“...what happened to...”

  
  


“You need to relax, you’ve been stabb-”

  
  


The three Serpents looked at each other, all of them sharing the same look of hopeful misery before letting out a collective sigh. This was bad. FP was awake, and there was was no force in heaven or hell that would keep him in that bed if he thought that his son might be in danger. No, it didn’t matter that the doctors were probably telling him Jughead had sustained minimal injuries, and no, the man wouldn’t care if they said he himself had almost bled out. He would fight tooth and nail to see his boy and make sure that he was fine, no matter what any nurse said to him.

  
  


On the other hand, it was good because FP was awake and he seemed okay, never mind the fact that he’d almost died due to a stab wound, and he’d been lying on the street for over an hour getting soaked through. It was good because although no nurse would be able to calm him down, the three of them _might_ stand a chance at convincing him not to break out of the room like a bull in a china shop. But that was a pretty big might, hence the bad part.

  
  


With that having been silently communicated the three set off running towards the source of the noise, and together they managed to shove the door open, tumbling through just in time to hear,

  
  


“So what if I’ve been _stabbed?_ I’m not asking about about a little shiv wound, I’m asking about my son!” FP was about half in and half out of an uncomfortable looking bed, with one jean-clad leg swung over the edge, while the other was still buried under a thermal blanket. His chest was bare and swathed in bandages, and on the back of his right hand they saw an IV line, while his left was occupied with a heart monitoring cord. If he didn’t still look pale and slightly damp it might have been a funny thing to see the retired Serpent leader surrounded with things that were so ill suited to his strong frame and fiery personality, but here it was just disturbing.

  
  


“I understand that Mr. Jones, and I have told you that your son is not in any danger” The doctor’s voice was filled with the most fake understanding and patience any of them had ever heard, and it was a solid guess that this guy was about a second from just sedating his unruly patient, but he kept explaining none the less. “He’s about as soaked through as you, and he has quite a few lacerations and contusions, along with several abrasions along his torso, but nothing fatal. The most dangerous injury he sustained was a rather long laceration across his throat, and while it did damage his trachea, we were able to stitch it up with little trouble, and he should have a full recovery.”

  
  


There was a moment of silence, and for just a second Toni thought that maybe they wouldn’t have to step in after all...then FP exploded.

  
  


“Alright, first off I don’t know what half of that gibberish was! And secondly, I heard you the first five times you told me that, but what I want is to see him, not hear that he’s ‘okay’!” He was about to swing his other leg over to land on the floor when Fangs took that as his queue to step forwards, cautiously putting out a hand to stop FP as he hurriedly explained the situation.

  
  


“Jughead really is fine FP! He got a little beat up during the fight, but the doctor was right about the cut on his neck being the only real injury. In all honesty he was more worried about you than anything that happened to him.” As if he’d uttered the magic words, FP seemed to sag where he sat, and after a moment he allowed Fangs to guide him back into a sitting position on the bed. The doctor looked startled, as it was obvious that he hadn’t noticed them until Fangs’ sudden outburst, but he apparently decided that they had it covered, because he gave them a nod before turning to leave.

  
  


“That sounds like him.” The words came out in something between a sigh and a chuckle, and FP winced slightly before asking, “You said there was a fight? Between who? I, uh, I don’t remember much after that bastard Karma got me.” He was calming down, and his breathing was beginning to even out while he settled himself more comfortably on the bed, looking to Fangs for an answer.

  
  


Instead it was Toni who spoke as she and Sweet Pea approached, doing her best to bring the injured man back up to speed and pulling up a plastic chair to sit on.

  
  


“We...don’t know exactly what happened, but we know that-” She looked around nervously for cameras, and even when she found none she leaned close, murmuring the secret softly, “We know that Jughead found you, and he didn’t take it too well. He, well, I guess he took on all the Sinners by himself and won. Cause when we found you two they were all dead, and he was covered in blood that definitely wasn’t his.” Leaning back she announced rather loudly, “The Sinners must’ve had a softy in there somewhere, cause they all killed each other before Karma could get Jughead too.”

  
  


For a moment FP merely looked stunned, and then he realized that the louder statement was the cover story they must’ve made up, and his confusion changed to shock and worry. “All of them?” Seeing them looking worried he kept talking, posing his questions to work with the cover, but secretly asking them what he really wanted to know.

  
  


“I mean I understand a few getting into a fist fight over whether or not to shank a kid, but all of them killing each other...it just doesn’t sound possible.” Fangs and Sweet Pea both took a seat, and together they explained the story(as well as they could with the fear of being overheard) to FP, telling him all they knew up until the moment he woke up. It was a hard thing to explain, and the more they talked the deeper the man’s frown got.

  
  


In the end, FP found he could believe it, but the truth was he didn’t want to. His son, causing a massacre? Sure the kid had been mad that his old man had been stabbed, but to go that far...Then again, he probably hadn’t had much of a choice if what they suspected was true, and Karma had tried to kill him too. But still, it was hard to fathom that his boy had been able to take out twenty armed gang members with only a couple of switchblades. He didn’t have the energy to even touch on how morally grey tonight’s events had been, let alone how much therapy the boy would probably need after all that.

  
  


A sigh escaped his cracked lips, and looking over at the three teens nervously watching him, he asked “He’s really okay?” Their looks of anxiety quickly changed, switching from one emotion so fast it was like watching a slot machine, and he was tempted to laugh as they finally settled on one. Toni read worried, while Fangs appeared thoughtful, and Sweet Pea just looked downright haunted. “That bad huh?”

  
  


“Emotionally, or spiritually?” Toni couldn’t have been more cryptic if she tried, and he sighed replying,

  
  


“Emotionally.” She nodded in thought.

  
  


“Physically, or mentally?” Come on Fangs, not you too! He really needed a nap a this point, but he answered tiredly,

  
  


“Physically.” The only response he got was a nervous twiddling of the boy’s thumbs. At least he knew Sweet Pea would be a straight shooter about this.

  
  


“You asking if he’ll ever act the same again, or if he’ll ever be the same again?” Sweet Pea was not, in fact, a straight shooter about this. A groan escaped him, and he tried not to glare as he returned,

  
  


“If he’ll ever be the same again.” Apparently they’d been waiting for him to get through all their questions, because no sooner had the words left his lips than the answers immediately appeared.

  
  


“It’ll take a while, but he will be. Eventually.” (Toni)

  
  


“Oh yeah, he’s been through way worse than this and survived, and he’ll probably get a cool scar.” (Fangs)

  
  


“No. Jones is tough, so he’ll probably get back normal after a couple months, but this isn’t something you just forget. He’ll still be him, but there’s definitely gonna be something a little off for...well, forever I guess.” Sweet Pea’s answer was pretty pessimistic compared to the others, and they weren’t sure if they should be mad at him for ruining the hopeful mood, or worried cause he’d been the one to talk Jughead down it must have seriously sucked. Really, traumatizing wasn’t strong enough to describe seeing your friend turned into something he’s not, then have him collapse in your arms.

  
  


FP looked comforted though, and he was about to say something when a faint alarm was heard from somewhere deeper in the hospital, echoing down the halls and invading their happy little reunion. The three teens turned as one to look at each other, then at the door, then back again. All they had was a second, and in that second they took a vote. A completely _silent_ vote.

  
  


Then the moment was gone, and Fangs was leaping towards the bed to keep FP from tumbling out as he recognized the voice of his son and once again tried to get up and find him. Toni was rushing to calm him down, and she could only spare Sweet Pea a glance as he barrelled out the door, head already swivelling as he began his hunt for the _second_ panicking Jones stuck in a hospital. Yep, this was going to be a very, _very_ long night.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jughead’s body had the funny habit of feeling the weirdest way at the weirdest times, and personally he blamed it on at least 50% of his freaky personality. He got hungry in dangerous situations, and when others were throwing up at the morbidity of a corpse, he was absolutely starving. On top of that he was almost never lonely when he was by himself, but the minute he was in a crowd full of people he felt immediately alone. If that seemed odd, he often had a ridiculously hard time staying warm no matter the weather, and instead of crying he just kind of shut down, like a robot who’s switch has been flipped. Yeah, his body did some pretty strange things sometimes, but right now his every sense had been taken over by a hauntingly familiar sensation, making it impossible for him to focus.

  
  


_Pain_.

  
  


Pain in his hands, pain in his feet, pain in his legs, and arms, and head. It wasn’t the stinging of a paper cut, or the sharp burn of a stab wound as it bled out, no, this was a different kind of discomfort. This was the kind of pain the went deep, flowing through your bloodstream and intertwining with your muscles. It squirmed around cruelly in your stomach and sent shivers down your spine, before drilling holes into your bones and stabbing viciously at your heart. This foul creature bounced around the inside of your skull, ramming against the hard walls and ricocheting into your brain until it got bored of torturing you. Then it lashed out, clawing at the inside of your skin and drying out your mouth with it’s fiery hatred, hurting so bad that all you wanted to do was cut yourself open if only to let it escape.

  
  


The horror of a being thrashed wildly around inside him, tearing at his flesh as it howled to be released and telling him in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t let it go he’d be sorry. He already was sorry, and he was made even sorrier because he could no more escape it than it could escape him, so they were stuck there together. The darkness seemed to stretch on forever, and although he gradually accepted his fate, he never managed to get used to it, because the pain wouldn’t let up even for a second, no matter what he tried.

  
  


And he tried, oh did he ever try! At first he attempted to reason with it, telling it that they were stuck here and there was nothing that either of them could do, but it simply yelled that it was his fault. Next he tried ignoring it, deciding firmly that if it was going to be that way then it was on it’s own, and he would be fine by himself. Only you can’t ignore something when it’s part of your entire being, and while it’s the very thing killing you, it’s the only thing that’s keeping you from death. Eventually he got angry, fighting it with everything he had and hoping he’d win, but it just laughed, telling him that he punched like Jellybean.

  
  


Now he couldn’t take it anymore, and he gave in, falling to his knees amongst the gravestones of blackness and begging, begging for it to stop, to leave him alone. In that cemetery of shadow and lost hope Forsythe Pendleton Jones III felt his bones begin to crumble as he screamed, crying out to any deity that would hear him and praying for salvation, for help. For somebody, anybody, to _please help me!_ But all he got in response was the laughter of Pain, and the cruel gaze of Nightmare. He yelled until he couldn’t yell anymore, and then he whispered and kept whispering, as he gradually lost himself to the darkness.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


A faint beeping echoed through the room, bouncing painfully against his ears every few seconds.

  
  


“ _Ugh, alarm clocks should be outlawed in Riverdale, the world would be a better place without them.”_

  
  


Scrunching up his face, he clamped his eyes tightly shut and reached up a hand to pull the pillow over his head. He didn’t know what time it was, but it was definitely way too early for him to even think about getting up, especially if it was the weekend. _“Wait, is it the weekend?”_ The question was at least interesting enough to make him lower his strangely heavy arm and try to think for a minute, which then lead him down the rabbit hole of “What do I last remember?”

  
  


It smelled like his room had fallen victim to another of Betty’s stress-induced cleaning frenzies, because his room wasn’t usually scented like bleach, and he could have sworn his sheets were softer than this. Plus he was wet, which was kinda weird, and- Wait, _wet._ Wet reminded him of rain, and for some reason rain made him think of the street, and the street made him think about knives because-

  
  


The moment of peace some generous god had lent him was gone, and in and instant the pain came marching in through the door, followed quickly by fear, worry, adrenaline, and-

_Darkness._

  
  


It was completely dark when his eyes snapped open, and that could only mean that he was back in the cemetery, still praying for a second of mercy. No. No, no, no, no, no! This wasn’t happening, it _couldn’t_ be happening, he wouldn’t go back!

  
  


Apparently the beeper agreed with his sentiment, because it began screaming too, shrieking at the top of it’s lungs that if he wasn’t going back then neither was it, and calling to it’s brethren for a revolution. The beeper’s friends must have heard it’s yells, and soon the whole room was echoing with _beeps, eeks, dings,_ and someone’s very loud and very raspy breathing. Oh, that was him. That was his dry cough rattling in _his_ throat, and he felt something sticking into _his_ hand as he tried to muffle it.

  
  


Panic overwhelmed his senses then, and the beeping could no longer be heard over his pounding heartbeat and frantic breaths, as he desperately struggled against the shadows holding him captive, choking in fear when they only seemed to wind tighter around his lead-weighted legs. Any ability to think got tossed out the window as he fought, pushing weakly at the indestructible forces ensnaring him and crying out in fear. Or at least he tried to yell. To shout for anyone that might be able to save him in his hour of need, but his words never came. He spoke again, and although the words were formed on his lips the only sound that came out was a dull scraping, as if his throat was fighting to free itself from invisible shackles.

  
  


Then, Jughead Jones began to cry. He shook with silent grief as horrible, gut-wrenching sobs forced their way out, and he curled inwards on himself like that would somehow protect him from the pain. Twin tears flowed from beneath his dark lashes, streaking over the stitches on his cheek before falling into nothingness with little splots. He wasn’t surrounded by people now but, in a complete contradiction to his usual behaviour, he had never felt so alone...

  
  


There were the sounds of running footsteps, a small creak, and then strong arms were wrapping themselves around him, pulling him away from the darkness as a faint light shone from somewhere nearby. Calloused hands gently grasped his shaking ones, and he felt himself being carefully guided backwards to rest against something solid and warm, shifting slightly as it breathed. Jughead’s eyes fluttered weakly, and through a blur of tears he peeked out from behind a stray curl, only managing to catch fuzzy images. Black boots, ringed hands, ripped jeans, faintly scarred arms and dark hair.

  
  


Whoever it was smelled like rain, campfire smoke, leather, and something else warm and spicy that he couldn’t identify. Cinnamon? Any thought of seasonings were blown away as the person murmured quietly, sending a low rumble through the chest he was currently leaning against.

  
  


“It’s okay Jones, you’re safe. Ain’t no one gonna hurt you here.”

  
  


Sniffing slightly, Jughead shifted as if to move away, trying to talk but only managing a hoarse breath, barely above a whisper. “M, my, my da, dad?” The arms encircling him tightened minimally, only to relax once again as the voice replied softly,

  
  


“He’s okay, he’s gonna be fine. Pretty tired, and he almost decked a doctor, but he’s resting now. At least he should be, but he’ll probably be worrying his head off until he sees you’re okay. I swear, you Jones’ have to be the most stubborn people I’ve ever met.” Relief washed over him, and he felt the pain recede to a dull muttering as he stayed sitting, taught muscles finally relaxing after what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes. His dad was going to be okay. He was _alive._

  
  


Raising a shaky hand he wiped at the tears still blurring his vision, and as he did he could feel the weight of exhaustion tugging on his bones, trying to pull him down into the dark forever. A fresh wave of panic overtook him and for a second he thought he would drown in it, while fear crept up his spine and his breathing turned ragged, signalling for his punishment to continue.

  
  


Then the hands were grasping his once again, and he heard the mattress creak as the person shifted behind him, gently wrapping him in their previously loose arms and bringing him back to rest against their chest. He didn’t know why, but as his head fell back to settle tiredly on their shoulder Jughead knew he felt safe, curled up in their warmth while they quietly murmured to him.

  
  


“Hey, stay with me Jones. Your dad’s okay, and you better be too. You know he’ll be lost if you aren’t, you know he, he wouldn’t know what to do if you stopped being you.”

  
  


He knew they weren’t talking about him staying physically present, cause even in his blurry state he was pretty sure he wasn’t dying, and both of them knew he’d be unconscious soon so it couldn’t be that. Oh. They were talking about his mental state of health, and he really couldn’t blame them considering that he felt less sane right now than he ever had. And that was including the time he was homeless and the other one where he’d almost died.

  
  


The person, Cinnamon he’d dubbed them, was sighing now, letting their arms relax as they too sunk further into the mattress below them. Okay, he’d try and stay sane, for Cinnamon if not for himself. With that decision having been made he closed his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the grasping hands of sleep, because now it didn’t seem so scary. Sleep was warm, and comfortable, and it wouldn’t let him fall. Sleep was like Cinnamon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so I said I didn't ship Jughead and Sweet Pea together, and I really don't! But...it feels more and more like I'm writing asexual romance instead of intimate platonic friendship, so I really don't know what to do. In all honesty I'm usually not into that pairing, but my writing doesn't seem to agree. I never liked it before, but now I'm warming up to the idea.
> 
> I need some help here guys, so what do you think? Should I keep going with the asexual romance, or should I try to cut it off and go for the protective big brother angle? Please give me some votes, cause I'm seriously stuck here:0


	7. You thought you could go free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can never truly escape your actions

FP did not calm down. He was frantic, constantly trying to launch himself out of the bed, desperate to get out of the room. To find his son. The faint alarm bells had faded, but that did nothing to sooth his frayed nerves, and he continued to struggle against the two young Serpent’s grasps. He simply wouldn’t relax, wouldn’t even pause to think about their explanation, and as far as they could tell he barely heard Toni’s words of reassurance. In the end she resorted to grabbing his shoulder, right below his neck, and looking straight into his eyes as she said,

  
  


“ _Don’t_ make things worse. Stop, _please._ ” It was a dirty trick and they all knew it, but no sooner had the words left Toni’s mouth than FP sagged, allowing his muscles to relax as he fell back onto the bed. The way she’d grabbed him, the phrases she’d said and the way she’d said them, well...Jughead had done the exact same thing many times before, whenever he was truly desperate to calm FP down, to get him to listen. It was dirty all right, but at the moment they didn’t have a lot of options.

  
  


FP sighed heavily, raising a shaky hand to rub at his no doubt tired eyes as both the teens sat down. He was exhausted they knew, and they couldn’t say they were feeling much better, but at least _they_ hadn’t been stabbed. Running a hand through his hair, Fangs decided to remind their retired leader of that particular fact.

  
  


“FP, you got _stabbed_. That’s not something you just walk away from and, and if Jughead knew you were up and about he’d probably only worry worse.” It was low, but it was true, and he hoped FP would push aside his panic and see that _._

  
  


“Worried? He’s not supposed to worry about me, I’m the one who worries about him! I get that I was stabbed, but I’m feeling fine now and from the sound of it, Jughead sure as hell isn’t!” Okay, maybe the panic was a bit too strong to for him to be easily dissuaded. Fangs shook his head in frustration, trying to think around the hunger forming in his gut. Maybe if he could just-

  
  


The option was taken from both of them as a nurse stepped in briefly, informing them that she would be locking the door for a couple hours under orders of the police. Something about wanting to make sure the survivors of a mass murder were safe from any further danger. The teens could stay, but they wouldn’t be let out again until 7:00 a.m. With that she locked the door, leaving them allstaring rather dumbfounded at what had just happened. Toni took FP’s shock as an opportunity and, turning once again to face him, she did what she did best. Use cold hard reason to knock some sense into people.

  
  


“FP, listen to yourself. If this had happened any other way you’d be lying there, grumbling about being too old to get up, let alone fight your way through a hospital. You’re worried about Jughead, I get it. We all are! But, he’s worried about you too, and right now that’s our priority.” FP looked confused, and she sighed, carrying on with a little more force.

  
  


“Come on, let’s say you did get out of here. Let’s say you actually managed to limp more than three feet, AND you found Jughead. What happens when you inevitably collapse on the floor a foot away from his bed, huh? He literally killed twenty guys to keep you safe! Not just because they were trying to hurt him too, because they hurt _you!_ He slaughtered every last Sinner, all to protect you.”

  
  


FP had gone from confused to wide-eyed and horrified. It was true, it had to be, because there was no way Jughead would be nearly as vicious or motivated when it came to defending himself. Of course he had known that his son had taken on the Sinners, and the idea that he’d killed them all was scary as hell. However, the fact that it had been for him was a lot more disturbing, and he began to wonder what exactly Jughead was capable of in a time of true anger. Seeing his worry, Toni deflated a little and leaned forwards, speaking her next words with more kindness than she had previously.

  
  


“He...when we found him he wouldn’t let us within four feet of you. You showing up at his room and passing out might just send him over the edge for all we know, and as much as I hate the hospital we shouldn’t actively try to destroy it.” Her voice was soft now, and FP wasn’t so much as twitching in an attempt to get up, so it must be working to some degree at least.

  
  


“Trust me, FP. The best thing you can do for Jughead now is heal. Relax, get some rest, and we can break out to see him in the morning.”

  
  


Finally FP laid down fully, allowing his head to fall back as he breathed slowly, and wincing when he jostled his injury. It had been a long, long day, and he was close blacking out right now if he was being honest.

  
  


“Okay. Okay, you’re right.” A thought occurred to him suddenly, “Hey, I’ll rest alright, but we’re not waiting til the morning. By then someone will be here to question us, and there’s no way Jug’s gonna be able to handle that himself.” The teens looked like they were about to object, but he cut them off quickly, raising one hand slightly in a placating gesture.

  
  


“I know, I know Sweet Pea will be there with him, but I wanna be there too. They’re tough, but they’re shaken, and these cops will be tougher. Besides,” He waved vaguely towards the clock on his bedside table, “It’s already morning technically, so how about we break out of here around five?”

  
  


The two exchanged a glance, Fangs eyeing the door and Toni the clock before nodding simultaneously. FP was right, it was already 1:00 AM, and the police would most likely be too much for a tired Sweet Pea and a traumatized Jughead to handle. Four hours of rest wasn’t much, but it was the best they were gonna get with FP as worried as he was, and it would give _them_ time to get some sleep too. At least until they started planning their escape route.

  
  


With a tired chuckle, Fangs slumped down further into his chair, listening to the scrabbling of Toni as she curled up in hers, and squinting through the dim lighting to see FP settling better on his bed. Good, per their agreement he was preparing to sleep. Hopefully they’d all wake up feeling better, if not fully rested.

  
  


\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


In the end they did end up feeling better, at least in some ways, and their escape plan went surprisingly well. Toni picked the lock while Fangs helped FP into a wheelchair, they left some pillow piled under the blankets to fool any passersby, and between the three of them they managed to get out unnoticed. Of course the halls were a different matter, and they hadn’t gotten five feet before a nurse passed them busily jotting down notes. They only just managed to hide their faces in time, but luckily she was too distracted to see anything and walked by without looking up. The next ten minutes were a mess of quietly wheeling through halls, sneaking peeks at room registration logs left unattended, and trying not to laugh when the chair almost toppled over going around a particularly sharp corner.

  
  


It was fun hanging out with their previous king, and despite the circumstances they enjoyed being able to play around for once. Ever since Jughead had become their leader free time had been rare, and while it had nothing to do with poor leadership and everything to do with hard times, it was still nice to laugh just for the sake of laughing. Finally though, they peeked in through a door and found what they were looking for, instantly squeezing inside to avoid a couple of passing staff members.

  
  


It took a second for the group’s breathing to slow, and their eyes to adjust to the almost dark room, but eventually they were able to see the majority of the inside. There on the narrow bed, a dark figure lay half sitting up against the wall. As they got closer they realized that it was not one, but two people who were curled up among the thin sheets, there legs tangled as they held each other close. Near the wall sat Sweet Pea, slumping in obvious exhaustion as his head rested atop Jughead’s ebony curls, while his arms stayed wound around the boy’s lean frame. For his part, Jughead was curled up as small as he could be, snuggling close to the other’s chest with his head drooping down to nestle on Sweet Pea’s collar bone. Both teens were sound asleep, cuddled up together as if nothing in the world could tear them apart, and the switchblade glinting from Sweet Pea’s pocket promised death to anyone who tried it.

  
  


FP sagged in relief to find his son safe, and Fangs let out a soft chuckle at Toni’s attempts to snap a picture in the low lighting, wheeling FP closer to the bed so he could get a better look. The two were still a bit damp, and a small shiver shook Sweet Pea’s body as they watched, making it obvious that he was providing a much needed heat source for the thin boy in his arms. Jughead himself definitely looked worse for wear, with ugly bruises dotting his bare arms and a nasty cut marring his cheekbone, not to mention the slim white bandage wrapping around his throat. That wasn’t the worst part though. No, what really hit home was how painfully _young_ they both appeared, with their normally scowling faces so relaxed and no lines of exhaustion crinkling their eyes, they could easily be mistaken for being three years younger than they really were.

  
  


Sweet Pea’s rock hard walls always made him seem twenty at least, and the burden of leadership had seriously weighed down on Jughead, causing him to look less like a sophomore and more like a war veteran. Now, lying so peacefully with Sweet Pea holding his friend like he hadn’t just killed twenty people, it hurt to realize just how hard their lives were and how much the world had stolen from them.

  
  


Their combined thoughts were interrupted by Fangs when he laughed softly, moving quietly around the room to make it more welcome, finding a blanket for FP and chair for Toni as he fought to control his merriment. The other two couldn’t decide whether to glare at him for laughing at such a dark time, or thank him for his consideration as he tucked the covers up further around the two unconscious teen’s shoulders, but the choice was taken from them when he finally spluttered out,

  
  


“You, you remember the first day they worked together? I thought for sure Sweets was gonna knock Jughead’s teeth in before noon!” Now it was Toni’s turn to snort, and she covered her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle the noise, giggling as she said,

  
  


“Oh my god, that was hilarious! And, and by the next week we were pretty sure it was gonna be the other way round, seeing how much damage Jones could do with a pencil when he felt like it. I still can’t believe they somehow didn’t trash the student lounge during that one argument!” Fangs was only too happy to butt in while Toni collapsed into a chair, whisper yelling,

  
  


“The, the only reason they didn’t was because Jughead was trying to avoid Sweet Pea getting suspended again. He stole his jacket the next day, and Sweets spent all five periods hunting him down! And when he found him? Oh man! He, he somehow found a way to lock Jughead in the back of the vending machine, cause he knew he’d freak if he put him in a locker.” It was true, Jughead had often been shoved in lockers as a kid by bullies, usually with the promise that he wouldn’t be let out until he paid up, and he tended to panic whenever anyone locked him in one. Sweet Pea knew that, but he’d also needed revenge, so the vending machine was the next best option.

  
  


“Joke was on him, cause Jones just ate everything in the machine, like _everything_ , then whipped out his laptop and started writing the essay for English! Sweets, oh man, Sweets couldn’t figure out how to open it up again to let him out, so he ended up sitting on the floor next to it while Jones gave him some pointers for his essay. Can you imagine? Taking writing directions from some kid chilling in a vending machine!” Toni literally couldn’t breath now, and she clutched at her sides while Fangs all but collapsed onto the ground beside her chair.

  
  


FP wanted to shush them, to scold the two for being so inconsiderate of the situation, he really did, but they were right. He’d worked with Sweet Pea for a while before Jughead had joined the Serpents, and he’d always known his son, so he knew both of them were good kids. At the time they met though, it had looked like they’d collapse the White Wyrm with the sheer volume of their squabbles, let alone how many punches it seemed they were gonna throw. They didn’t though, and in just a month’s time the insults had gone from venomous to playful, without anyone ever actually figuring out what had brought on such a drastic change in their behaviour towards each other. Sure Sweet Pea still questioned Jughead’s plans from time to time, and the new King was often seen pulling his friend aside to keep him from getting into a fight. It was to help each other though, and they both seemed to realize it, even if they liked to pretend they were annoyed.

  
  


They’d started out as firm rivals, and now here they were curled up together, sleeping as soundly as if they had known each other their entire lives. There was something to be said for the ability of crazy experiences to draw people closer, but at this point it was obvious to all the Serpents that these two were just meant to be, and as a team they could take on anything that came at them. They were family, blood related or not, and not even this could break them apart.

  
  


Looking up from gazing at the two sleeping teens, FP realized it was already 5:30. The sun was rising slowly over the horizon, bathing the room in warm golden light as it’s rays stretched across the floor towards them, shining softly down onto Jughead’s small form. That was the thing about nature. It didn’t care that people had died last night, it didn’t mind that the boy it smiled at had killed an entire gang of thugs, and the blood under the Serpent’s fingernails didn’t bother it one bit. No matter what someone did, the birds would still sing, the grass was still green, and the sun would always rise when morning came. That had to be either wonderfully comforting, or incredibly screwed up, depending on-

  
  


FP didn’t get to finish the thought, because at that moment Sweet Pea stirred, breathing in deeply and subconsciously stretching his no doubt stiff neck in an attempt to get out the crick. His dark eyes fluttered open and he squinted in the morning light, glaring blearily at his surroundings before they widened and he looked down at Jughead, as if thinking he might have disappeared while they were unconscious. He hadn’t though, and Sweet Pea sighed in obvious relief to find his friend still there, turning once again to take in the room he’d ended up in, only then realizing that he wasn’t actually alone.

  
  


“Wha- You let him get up? You had one job!” Of course those were the first words out of his mouth, and FP didn’t know whether to be offended at being ignored or amused by the fact that of all the things he could have focused on, this was what the teen had chosen. He didn’t really sound mad, and the annoyance slowly ebbed from his glare as Toni and Fangs rushed to defend themselves.

  
  


“Hey, we did! I actually talked him down ya know, and he full on slept!” Toni sounded particularly indignant, and probably would have continued on into a full rant had Fangs not interrupted her, arguing,

  
  


“Yeah! For like four whole hours! Come on don’t give me that look, it’s not like you could’ve done any better! The nurse locked us in and we cut a deal to wait until five to break out! What were you doing the whole time?” The last question was of course unnecessary, since it was pretty obvious he’d been there the entire time, and sleeping at that. Still, it was clear that the three were eager to know how Jughead had been during the apparent emergency, and Sweet Pea actually tightened his hold slightly in defence.

  
  


“How’re you doing?” FP was so surprised that someone seemed to realize he was still in the room that he barely recognized the question, but he pulled himself together shrugging rather painfully as he answered.

  
  


“Been better, but the sleep helped. How’s Jug?” At this Sweet Pea’s eyes snapped down to the figure curled against him, and his eyebrows knitted together in worry at how much worse Jughead looked in daylight. If he thought he’d been banged up before, it was nothing to the angry bruises dotting his arms now, not to mention the dark bags beneath his closed eyes. Still, FP had to be worried sick, and not answering would only make it worse.

  
  


“He, he was freaking out pretty bad when I found him, and I, uh, I don’t think he really knew it was me.” No, that blank stare had seen right through him, or more accurately right around him, seeing as Jones’ gaze had wandered everywhere but his face in his frantic search for safety. “When he calmed down though, the first thing he asked was if you were okay. Wouldn’t relax until I told him you were doing fine.”

  
  


FP’s eyebrows rose, but he sighed because yeah, that was about the reaction he’d expected, and all things considering it could have been a lot worse. Now they just had to wait for him to wake up and- Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flicker of motion from the bed, and he turned just in time to see Jughead’s hand tighten around Sweet Pea’s hand, giving it a small squeeze before releasing it and reaching up to rub shakily at his face. The thin teen squirmed in his the older Serpent’s arms, curling if it was possible even smaller before popping back out and stretching his long legs all the way to the end of the bed. With his body still resting against Sweet Pea’s chest Jughead arched his back, causing his head to go up and into the crook of his friend’s shoulder, and it was only the bruises littering his body that kept him from reaching his arms out too.

  
  


Having finished waking up fully, Jughead’s eyelids snapped fully open to reveal two very blue, very tired, _very_ old looking ocean orbs, and at once he was staking out the room, taking in every detail from the sunlight to his family sitting around.

  
  


“Dad?!” Immediately he was sitting up, trying and failing to swing his legs over the edge as his face sped through a myriad of emotions, changing to fast for any of them to keep up. Concern, fear, surprise, wonder, worry, grief, horror. He finally settled on relief and, having given up on moving, he reached out a hand to grab his father’s arm, his voice coming out as nothing more than a rasp as he tried to ask what he so desperately needed to know.

  
  


“Ar-are you okay?”

  
  


FP’s heart was as close to shattering as it had ever been, and all he wanted to do was scold his boy for such a ridiculous question, but what came out was, “Yeah, yeah I’m okay boy. I’m gonna be just fine.” He swallowed hard, and suddenly it was quite hard to breathe because Jughead was relaxing, letting tension out of his shoulders that FP hadn’t known was there, and allowing Sweet Pea to pull him back into a more leisurely position. His boy had been that worried about him. _Him,_ his father for Pete’s sake, and it hurt him deep down because that wasn’t how it worked. He was supposed to be the one worrying, the one killing people to protect Jughead, the one getting blood on his hands cause they were already stained anyway. Not the other way around!

  
  


It didn’t matter though, because Toni and Fangs had started up some friendly banter to distract their friend from his obvious trauma, the sun was smiling down on them cheerfully while the birds sang merrily, and Sweet Pea was actually chuckling at tiny bit, his rough bass tones echoing around the small room. It was alright now, and Jughead was trying to smile to make up for his lack of speech, and a little spark was shining from somewhere behind his eyes, telling them that the boy they loved was still there. They were okay, they had survived the night and an entire gang hadn’t been able to take them out, and there was no way FP was planning on kicking the bucket anytime soon. Not when his kids looked so happy, so relieved to be alive, laughing just for the sake of laughing as Fangs retold the story of them breaking him out, using Toni and her chair to demonstrate, and actually lifting her into the air while she hung on giggling. They were still just children despite what they’d been through, and it was good to see them making light of the situation, using humour to push away the fear until they could find a way to handle it.

  
  


Some day they would need to talk about what happened, some day Jughead would have to face what he did, but not today. Today they could laugh, today they could smile. Today they were safe.

  
  


The door burst open with a bang, slamming into the wall behind it and causing drywall to crack as police officers swarmed the room. Two ran to the windows, another two blocked the now broken door, and one more searched the bathroom. They were blocking off the exits. Fangs was staring in shock at the intruders, and Toni was yelling for an explanation, telling them they that she had rights, and there was no way they could just barge in and-

And it didn’t matter, because all FP could focus on were the two officers standing at the foot of the bed, one pushing his wheelchair to the side while the other pointed an accusing finger at Jughead. Jughead who’s eyes were wide enough to swallow the planet, who’s limbs had gone rigid, and who was shrinking away from the noise as if he could vanish into the covers. Sweet Pea clutched him tightly, backing up until he hit the wall as a growl rumbled low in his throat, fists clenching and glare shooting daggers while he curled his arms around the younger teens body.

  
  


“Jughead Jones, you are under arrest for mass murder!”

  
  


FP couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move as the words echoed through his head, bouncing off his skull and penetrating his blood-loss-dazed brain. No. _No_ , this couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t! Toni had put up a cover story, a good one, and they should have just assumed it was true. They should have gone with it, seeing only what matched up with the theory and writing it off as an open-closed case. This _shouldn’t_ be happening!

  
  


Time seemed to slow, and for the rest of his days until he died FP would always remember the next moments, watching in hopeless horror as the scene unfolded before him like a nightmare he could never forget.

  
  


Toni was frozen where she stood, gaping in shock as it sunk in that it hadn’t worked, that she had _failed._ Fangs swung his head from side to side rapidly, desperate to find an exit, a way to escape from this horror film, to flee from something that shouldn’t be happening. His feet shuffled while he spun around, sending little bits of rubble scattering from his boots, and the panic in his gaze was obvious when he turned to FP for help. The curtains ruffled slightly in the wind from the open window, fluttering around Sweet Pea while he snarled at the officers, yelling and striking out at anyone who got close. His dark eyes burned with a fierce fury, daring them to take his friend, challenging them to so much as touch him, because he was ready and willing to slice their arms off.

  
  


The police were yelling then, guns were being pointed at the pair in warning as they screamed for Sweet Pea to “Put the knife down, and step away from the perpetrator!” The taser wire seemed to take forever to reach it’s target, sizzling through the air with cruel intent for what felt like hours, but when it finally hit Sweet Pea all FP could do was gasp, watching in shock as the strong teen dropped twitching to the floor, a strangled cry escaping him while he writhed in pain. A hard _thump_ shook the room followed by a scream of anger, and Fangs was tackled by two cops while a couple more held Toni back roughly, struggling to keep her pined as she yelled, shrieking loud enough to match the fire in her glare.

  
  


“He didn’t do anything, you can’t do this! _Please!_ ”

  
  


She might as well have stayed silent for all the good it did for Jughead, but her cries galvanized FP into action, and he too began to yell at them, crying out that they’d made a mistake, that this wasn’t his boy’s fault. No one listened. The only sign that they’d heard him was the appearance of an officer taking a firm hold of the back of his chair, securing him should he try to stop them in their duty. It didn’t matter, goodness knows he couldn’t move anyway. All he could do was watch as his kids struggled, as Fangs was elbowed harshly in the back when he tried to get up, and Toni cried out when her arms were twisted up into the small of her back. As Sweet Pea’s limp form was carelessly pushed to the side to make room for the two officers approaching the bed, and his dark eyes fluttered open while one hand twitched weakly as if he was still trying to protect his friend.

  
  


The worst part though? The worst part was staring, struggling hopelessly against the arms that held him closely pinned to the chair, and seeing an officer pull out the handcuffs. Yelling as a woman grabbed Jughead’s shoulders roughly, holding him while her partner snapped the metal tightly onto the teen’s thin wrists. Shaking in anger when they yanked his son from the bed, clutching his arms to keep him from falling to wave of dizziness and dragging him forwards, practically spitting his rights in his ear when he stumbled. The worst part was seeing Jughead’s bare feet scrape painfully on the leg of the bed, to hear the man swear when he accidentally stepped on the boy’s toe, shaking him for getting it in the way in the first place.

  
  


It was watching, helpless as Jughead’s eyes grew glassy, as they morphed into bottomless pits of exhaustion and pain, turning him from young and strong, to older than the stars with more weight on his shoulders than any sixteen year old should feel. It was the way his face went blank and his body shut down, making his head drop low and his limbs go limp, leaving him looking like nothing more than a ragdoll sagging boneless in the hands of his captors.

  
  


FP could never forget the fear he felt seeing the spark of hope fade from his boy’s eyes, vanishing along with any emotion that had ever lit up his blue gaze as if it had been blown away with the wind. The sorrow at watching Jughead disappear long before he was dragged out, fleeing deep into his mind to be replaced with a skeleton, pale and dead against the hands of the two officers taking him to his doom.

  
  


Then he was gone, followed by the rest of the force as they released the Serpents, marching through the door and out of the hospital before any nurses could complain. One stayed just outside, telling them they had five minutes to recover from the ordeal, then he’d need to take them to the station for questioning about the perpetrator’s actions.

  
  


Fangs pushed himself up off the floor, grimacing at the pain in his back as he straightened, and Toni stumbled over to kneel beside Sweet Pea, shaking him gently and getting no response. FP didn’t move at all, he couldn’t. There was no air in his lungs, and the more he tried to breathe the worse it got, constricting his chest and crushing down upon his shoulders, until he was sure he would drown in the unending blackness that threatened to drag him under.

  
  


Jughead was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm back! Thank you all so much for your votes, they were a great help! Because I'm a new writer I've never really done romance, asexual or not, and I'm a little scared to try it. So in the end I've decided to keep it, kinda platonic? Look, I'm going to keep writing Jughead and Sweet Pea like they're friends, brothers, that kind of thing, but y'all are free to look at it however you like. If in the future it feels right to have them together, then maybe I'll let it go there. My sincerest apologies to those who didn't get the outcome they wanted.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and as always, please comment below! Any and all feedback is appreciated, and your input is what helps me get up in the morning.


	8. The system is done for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karma always comes, but not always for those who deserve it.

Jughead couldn’t really...he couldn’t quite...well he just didn’t. Just couldn’t! There was no other way to explain it.

  
  


He could remember white tiles sliding by beneath his bare feet, and the dull pressure of hands gripping his arms, but he _couldn’t_ remember getting into the squad car, couldn’t remember the drive to the station. He did know that the woman at the front desk had had green eyes and exactly five freckles dotting her nose, but he _didn’t_ know what the lobby itself looked like, or when they’d dragged him into the interrogation room. He saw, as if from far away, when they dropped his limp body onto the chair and cuffed his hands to a ring on the table, yet he didn’t feel a thing as the metal pinched tighter around his wrists.

  
  


He could see the angry man(Willis his name tag said) yelling, the veins in his neck bulging and twisting as the muscles strained, the spittle flying across the metal surface between them, and he could even make out a couple words by reading his lips. But he couldn’t hear him, as a faint ringing filled his ears. He did know that his hands were clenching into fists without his permission, that his nails were digging deep into his palms leaving half moon tears in the skin as beads of blood began to form. Still, he only felt a slight sting from the slits.

  
  


“ _ANSWER ME!”_ It looked like that was what Willis was mouthing, but he couldn’t be sure because the cop was swinging his arms around, making wild gestures as if that would magically provide Jughead his hearing back.

  
  


He could tell them what Willis ate for breakfast that morning just by seeing the crumbs on his vest, he could tell them almost the exact measurements for the room they were in now, and he knew the materials that made up the table, the cuffs, and the hospital gown he still wore. But he couldn’t tell them the answers to their questions, simply because he had no idea what Willis was saying.

  
  


BANG!

  
  


Jughead didn’t even blink as the metal shook under the impact of someone striking it, and his only reaction was to twitch his fingers ever so slightly, loosening them in their strained hold on the now vibrating table. _What did they want?_ More than that, _what could he possibly say?_

  
  


He could see, but he couldn’t smell. He could analyze the entire situation, room, police, cuffs and all, and he knew where the best escape routes were, but he couldn’t hear a single word coming out of the screaming cop’s mouth. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move his body other than his hands, and other than them he couldn’t feel anything. He knew he should be cold in just a hospital gown, but he wasn’t. He was sure the slits in his palms should sting, but they didn’t. Most of all, he was dead certain that what was being said was important, that his very life depended on what he said next, and that if he messed up he could doom himself to prison. But he could. Not. Hear.

  
  


Finally, miracle of all miracles, Willis stopped screaming. He halted in his tirade as another officer came into the room, putting a hand on his shoulder and muttering something in his ear before stepping forwards to take his place. Or maybe she’d yelled at him, or just talked at a normal volume, it really didn’t matter for all Jughead could tell. She moved around the table, coming to stand directly behind him it seemed like from the vibrations, but all he could focus on was Willis and how he was suddenly smiling. _“Why is he smiling? Why would he be happy when he was furious just a second ago?”_

  
  


Then there was a hand on Jughead’s head, tangling in his hair and clutching tightly at his curls as another one gripped the base of his neck so hard it almost hurt. He felt nails digging into his skin, and then he was being launched forward so fast the air whistled past and he could have sworn his ears popped. _What the hell was-_

  
  


WHAM!

  
  


Pain blossomed in his skull, blinding and sharp as his head was smashed against the table for a second time, stealing any confusion from his mind. Any thoughts at all really. But there was something else too, a faint noise echoing around. Like someone talking, although he couldn’t quite tell what they were sayi-

  
  


BAM!

  
  


“How’s that, huh? Hearing better now, nut job?”

  
  


Jughead gasped for air, trying to stifle a groan as the woman shook him roughly, jerking his pounding head from side to side by his hair as she talked. Yes, he could actually hear now, and on top of that the adrenaline now flooding his veins had lent oxygen to his lungs, allowing him to breathe for the first time in what felt like years. There was just one problem he realized, blinking in confusion as his skull tried to implode in on itself and his eyebrow cruelly split in half; now he couldn’t see.

  
  


The world had turned black, and as he watched little stars burst all around him like the Fourth of July, celebrating that he could once again hear the people verbally abusing him. Gradually though, the room sputtered into existence, showing him one very smug Willis moving to sit down in the chair across from him. Huh, guess his brain got a little jostled by those hits on the table, cause everything was pixelated somehow, like a TV when the antennae gets twisted.

  
  


“You wanna answer me when I ask you a question, or do you want another visit with your friend the table?!”

  
  


The woman sounded mad, and while the steady drip of red making his left eye sting was interesting, he’d have to save the questions about the world turning scarlet for later if he wanted to avoid more pain.

  
  


“N-no.”

  
  


The hand retracted its hold on his hair, leaving his scalp feeling raw and tingly, and he heard rather than saw the smirk on her face as the officer moved from her place behind him, chuckling quietly as she did.

  
  


“Good! There is nothing I hate more in this world than trying to interrogate concussed perps.”

Coming to a halt a little bit behind Willis, she stood with her hands on her hips as they surveyed the teen, one looking disgusted while the other appeared to have received a gift they weren’t expecting.

  
  


Now with all his senses returned Jughead tilted his chin up a bit, and, squinting in the bright lighting while simultaneously trying not to shiver, he attempted to get a read on his captors. They didn’t look like anyone in his Dad’s force, and those badges weren’t from Riverdale or any town close, so he wouldn’t be getting the benefit of the doubt from either of them. The woman, Tina her name tag read, almost seemed a little familiar in the way she smirked maliciously, but he couldn’t place exactly where. Evil cousin of his, maybe?

  
  


“Alright, now that Tina’s been kind enough to knock you outta shock, why don’t we get started? First things first, state your full name for the record.”

  
  


Willis’ voice was rougher than any calm questioning cop’s should be, and his accent didn’t seem local really, more like one of those cheesy crime shows. Well, Jughead didn’t feel like talking all that much right now, and since he was fighting a losing battle with his head in it’s attempt at suicide, he thought maybe they could just leave him be.

  
  


Or not. Willis was glaring now, and even though it took way more energy than he currently had in him, Jughead answered quietly, his words rasping harshly against his damaged throat as he spoke.

  
  


“J-Jughe-head Jo-Jones.”

  
  


His last name was garbled badly, because at that moment he broke down into a coughing fit, wheezing weakly as razor blades jabbed angrily at his trachea, shredding what little voice he had left and sending the drummer in his skull into a frenzied solo. Doubling over, he curled around the edge of the table while his hands struggled uselessly at the metal keeping them from clutching his injured neck, mentally cursing himself for answering. It wasn’t worth this pain.

  
  


“Jughead Jones? Alright, next question. Where were you last night between the hours of 8:00 and 10:00 pm?”

  
  


It was as if Willis was completely unaware that the teen he’d arrested was currently hacking up half a lung, like it wasn’t totally obvious that he could no ore talk than get up and do the jig, because every cough only irritated his slashed throat more. Tina didn’t seem to be any more observant, and together they waited patiently for a whole two minutes, only interrupting the horrible sounds from across the table once and a while to make a comment or two, like:

  
  


“Hey, you going deaf or something?” Or,

  
  


“You can think it over, but we haven’t got all day.”

  
  


Jughead couldn’t _breathe_. He was suffocating, choking on air as he greedily sucked it in and sputtering desperately when it got forcefully ejected back out. His windpipe burned angrily, snarling at him as if it was somehow his fault that he’d gotten his throat slit, and his lungs seemed to agree with the unreasonable accusation because they were shrieking in fury, telling him in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t give them oxygen soon they would tell his body to pass out.

  
  


_Why weren’t his interrogators doing anything? They needed him alive, didn’t they?!_

  
  


Even as he thought this Willis sighed in exasperation, sharing an annoyed look with Tina before turning once again to their captive, growling at him while his partner moved around the table.

  
  


“Look brat, I don’t have all day! Get a fucking grip, and give me what I want!”

  
  


Before Jughead could even process how ridiculous that sounded, Tina was smacking him in the back hard enough to make his teeth clack together, causing him to bite down on his tongue. Suppressing a whimper, he struggled to draw in a breath as Tina continued hitting him, and almost sighed in relief when the coughing finally stopped, allowing him to breathe normally again. Oxygen, what a beautiful thing it was. Whoever thought breathing was easy was seriously stupid, becau-

  
  


“Answer, the damn question.”

  
  


Right, he was being interrogated. Aaaaand by the looks of it his captors weren’t all that happy with his performance, which meant that if he didn’t reply soon they were gonna start yelling for real. Yelling was bad because it was scary, and he didn’t have his stuffed animal here to protect him, and...yup, he definitely had a concussion. Tina was gonna be mad.

  
  


Pulling himself mostly upright in the cold steel chair, Jughead drew in a much too shallow breath, doing his very best to not appear as if he was about to pass out and, raising his eyes to look directly at Willis, opened his mouth to speak.

  
  


“I-I w-wa-was on t-the street.”

  
  


Great, now they were going to think he was being a smartass. As much as he would normally have enjoyed annoying the living hell out of them, right at the moment he felt much too awful to tease people with so much power over him.

  
  


He swore his head was actively splitting open where it sat on his slumped shoulders, and the result was extreme nausea, quickly followed up by the illusion that the room was tilting dangerously to the side. On top of that his left eye was filling with red, and he was beginning to suspect that it had something to do with his eyebrow sawing itself in half.

  
  


Oddly enough, the rest of his body wasn’t adding to his brain’s complaint list, but at this point it was probably due to how completely numb it was right now, not to mention the bone-chilling cold that was gradually taking over.

  
  


“On the street, as in Proelium Avenue? The location of the biggest crime Riverdale has ever seen?”

  
  


Rather than angry, Tina sounded eager as she questioned him from behind, and the thump of her feet pacing was quicker than any interrogator should be walking. They were patient, calm, and it was their job to get what they needed efficiently and correctly, not dash in like a 2nd grader. Maybe she was new?

  
  


Jughead felt his hands clench slightly, and he gritted his teeth in preparation for the pain he’d have to suffer to answer the questions. It had always been this was really, with someone asking him things it hurt for him to answer, and them being all too happy to put words in his mouth when he didn’t reply quickly enough. Might as well beat them to it, or soon they’d mark out the whole scene before he got a word in edge wise.

  
  


“I-I w-wa-”

  
  


That’s as far as he got before he choked, his breath hitching as he fought the urge to cough, knowing that if he started he wouldn’t be able to stop without help. His lungs burned while he held in his remaining oxygen, the pressure of holding it back causing his head to shriek while needles savagely stabbed at his brain. Willis was saying something now, probably stupid and useless as per usual, but Jughead couldn’t make out the words as his stomach spasmed desperately, reminding him that he would have to breathe sooner or later, even if it did send him into another coughing fit.

  
  


Glancing up through the hair falling into his eyes, Jughead stared at Willis hopefully, silently pleading for this to be over, for them to realize that he couldn’t talk, let alone tell them what they wanted to know.

  
  


“Look, we know you were on the street, and we know the Sheriff was with ya. What happened there?”

  
  


Willis’ words seemed to echo, bouncing cruelly around the inside of Jughead’s tender skull in an endless loop, as if there was something important about them that he was missing. But what? It was just another question like any other, so why was it setting off alarm bells in his head and making his fists clench tighter? Why was it that the room was shrinking, that his vision was blurring and darkening at the edges, and his already freezing feet were suddenly made of ice cubes? What was his brain trying to tell him?!

  
  


Time seemed to slow momentarily as Jughead put his detective skills to use, crawling along to give him a chance to figure out what his subconscious apparently wanted him to know. In front of him the a clock on the wall ticked gradually to the next second, the sound cracking like thunder in the unnatural silence, and a singular drop of blood fell from his eyebrow, coming to land on the table with a small splash.

  
  


Willis’ mouth was open in yet another unanswerable question, his hand resting palm down on the table with his elbow up as if he were about to stand, and just before his wrist there was a mark, hiding in the shadow of his partially pulled up sleeve. A _skull_ tattoo.

  
  


_Oh._

  
  


Three things happened then almost simultaneously, and while it was faster than any normal mind could follow, Jughead would never forget a single detail for as long as he lived.

  
  


Willis stood up yelling yet again, pushing the table as he did so it rammed into Jughead’s midriff and causing the breath he’d been holding to escape in one loud gasp. Tina’s hands landed heavily on the teen’s shoulders, squeezing down hard while her nails dug into his bare collarbones, and the chair tipped dangerously to one side. Then last but not least, Jughead’s heart clenched, a weight dropped into his stomach without his permission as the blood in his veins turned to ice, and while the two “cops” stared in amazement, he began to _laugh_.

  
  


It wasn’t a happy laugh, or a hysterical giggle someone in this situation might experience, nor was it a bitter chuckle. No, this laugh was the kind that kids hear in their nightmares, the type of mirth that sends grown men running to their cars when they think they see a clown in an alley, and makes Joker seem like a phony.

  
  


It was as if Jughead was gargling knives, rasping out a horrid crackling giggle while his abused throat screeched and his lungs begged him to stop. He choked, gasped, sputtered, and kept going, cackling manically as Willis backed up a step in pure horror. The teen’s grating laugh echoed terribly around the small room, scratching at the table like nails on a chalkboard and clawing at the door like a wild animal, desperate to escape. There was no escape though, and Jughead knew that now.

  
  


_He had figured it out._

  
  


Finally the unnerving merriment halted, leaving him breathing shallowly while his hands shook and his chest heaved, tilting his head up to stare hauntingly into Willis’ wide eyes.

  
  


“F-for the r-record?” Both cops had to keep themselves from wincing at the scraping noise the teen’s voice made when he spoke, tearing at his already damaged throat and shredding what little progress his brief rest had made in repairing him. He didn’t stop though, and his next words made them freeze where they stood.

  
  


“Th-there isn’t a record, th-there n-never was. Th-this isn’t a n-normal interro-ga-gation room, this isn’t e-even u-used most of th-the time. Those cameras aren’t o-on!”

  
  


Jughead coughed slightly, gritting his teeth as tiny needles tore through his trachea and down into his stomach, but he kept going, wheezing even as he continued to rant at his stunned captors.

  
  


“Y-you’re not cops, you’re not e-even FBI, y-you two are S-sinners. No-normal police are way better at ke-keeping their tempers, I should know, I’m the Sheriff’s son! Y-you were probably hoping I’d give you a full conf-confession before I realized I had the ri-right to a lawyer, weren’t y-you? You actually thou-”

  
  


Jughead’s memory of the next events were hazy, because no sooner had he begun to get to the good part than his head was reintroduced to the table rather violently, and the world seemed to literally disappear from under him as his chair was flung across the room. His ears were ringing again, but that couldn’t block out the sounds of Willis chuckling, nor the god-awful _crack_ his bare knees made as they met the harsh concrete of the floor.

  
  


_Why had he ever thought he had any semblance of control over the situation?_

  
  


“Well wise guy, why don’t you tell us what made you brutally murder twenty innocent people?”

  
  


Tina’s hand was on his shoulders again, pressing his damaged neck into the edge of the table as he gasped for air, and her voice had dropped to a deadly calm that in no way matched the angry hold she had on his hair. Willis was beside her now, and together they waited impatiently, hatred burning in their eyes as they watched their captive struggle weakly for air.

  
  


Apparently he took too long, because the next thing he knew Willis was gripping his left arm, angling it painfully while Tina rearranged her hold, pushing Jughead’s head down to be under the table. The cuffs bit wrathfully into his wrists, chewing through skin and making little rivulets of warmth dribble slowly down to land on the ring they were attached to. Too much pressure, too much strain on his hands, on his arms. _What were they-_

  
  


POP!

  
  


Jughead screamed then, long and horrible like a wounded animal, until finally his voice cut out and he fell silent, gasping for air while his shoulder throbbed from it’s new residence away from the joint it should be occupying. They had dislocated it.

  
  


“Why did you antagonize Karma, the leader of the Sinners?”

  
  


The questions were speeding up now, coming quicker and sounding more ridiculous than ever before as Jughead’s captors shook him like a ragdoll, jarring his injured shoulder.

  
  


“All those good people, and you slaughtered them? How could you do such a thing?”

  
  


‘ _They weren’t good’_

  
  


Fingers dug into his the space around his collarbones, slicing into skin and leaving stinging marks all the up to his swelling shoulder as they gradually tightened. He felt his toes begin to bruise as Willis stomped down hard on his unprotected feet, smiling maniacally as he spoke.

  
  


“Stabbing your own father just to get an audience with them, I mean damn, that’s cold.”

  
  


‘ _What? I didn’t, they were the ones who-’_

  
  


WHAM!

  
  


A knee connected with Jughead’s back and he groaned, arching it in a hopeless attempt to escape the pain now radiating for his spine, and only ending up accidentally pressing his shoulders further into the waiting nails of Tina. He could barely draw breath now, and the edges of his vision were starting to go black while his eyes began to burn.

  
  


‘ _I can’t talk! What do you want from me?!’_

  
  


There was the clinking of keys, and then his cuffed hands were sliding free of the ring, falling to rest painfully atop his bowed head as his shoulder screamed. Maybe they were letting him go?

  
  


CRASH!

  
  


“ _Don’t be stupid,”_ A voice in his head purred, seemingly smiling as his thin frame was tossed against a wall. “ _They’ll never let you go, and they’ll never stop hurting you.”_

  
  


“Answer the question!”

  
  


Willis stepped forwards, smiling as he dealt a brutal kick to Jughead’s stomach and laughed as his steel-toed boot seemed to go almost all the way through the weak body at his feet. Tina jerked him upright before he even had the chance to cough and, drawing back for more momentum, hit him directly in his right hip with the butt of her gun.

  
  


“Look you little bitch, just confess to wrongfully killing twenty innocent people, and all this can end!”

  
  


Jughead felt a rib crack with the first hit from Willis’ boot, then two more with the second one, and three groaned under the force of the third strike. Then he stopped counting. He stopped caring as he was flung across the room yet again, stopped feeling when warmth spread over his neck, signalling that the stitches in his throat had ripped wide open, allowing fresh blood to stain the white bandage. He couldn’t even scream as his shoulder was popped back into place, nor could he yell for help when Tina laid him out on the table and started striking at his vertebrae with her gun, one by one.

  
  


-

  
  


In a cold room deep within the Sheriff’s station in Riverdale, a teenage boy was being tortured. Horribly punished for something he'd been forced to do. His thin body was brutally abused by the Sinners’ hands, and his pale skin blossomed with hundreds of new bruises coloring it. His very bones fractured as hairline cracks made their way around his ribs and down to his hips, pausing just short of his battered spine. Over and over again, the man and the woman yelled at him to answer them, but the sad truth was that he couldn’t. It wasn’t his fault his throat had been slit.

  
  


At last the teen lay limp on the concrete floor, limbs splayed haphazardly around his crumpled frame while his lungs struggled to take in a stuttering breath, and his fingers twitched weakly at the metal mangling his frail wrists. To anyone watching it appeared as if the boy was minutes away from death, spending his final moments in agony while his tormentors jeered spitefully at his broken form.

  
  


They couldn’t be more wrong.

  
  


Scarlet spread swiftly across the once white bandage around his slashed neck, and his ocean orbs stared unseeingly at the ceiling as the Sinners argued above him, glazing over while blood trickled from his eyebrow to stain the blue irises red.

  
  


Jughead Jones was long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, I really don't know why I'm posting this trash. Lately I've been having a really hard time writing, and I honestly considered deleting this whole chapter, but here we are. 
> 
> Um...let me know what you think? Please tell me if it's okay, cause I'm really unsure on how this turned out!


	9. The people ain't happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when things seem to be looking up, life always finds a way to bring you down. Especially for a serpent named Sweet Pea.

“You sick bastard!” Sweet Pea lunged vengefully towards Davids, and it was only the two pairs of arms holding him back that saved the man’s face from being torn clean off by the Serpent. Any kind of common sense had completely fled the teen’s mind the moment he’d seen the cop, and if it weren’t for Fangs and Toni’s quick reflexes Riverdale would have had one less person in it’s Sheriff’s station.

  
  


Sweet Pea’s boots skidded against the floor as he fought the grasps of his friends, scuffing the tile black and sending a plastic chair flying when it’s leg snagged on his foot. His hands were clenched into tight fists, his bracelets dug harshly into the muscles of his forearms as they bulged, and the veins in his neck stood out sharply as he strained, desperate to get at the person responsible for taking Jughead away.

  
  


He didn’t care if attacking an officer was cause for arrest, nor did it matter in the slightest that this particular guy hadn’t technically done anything wrong. The only thing Sweet Pea could think about was that the police had taken Jones, and there was nothing in heaven of hell that would stop him from getting his friend back.

  
  


“He didn’t do anything wrong! You let him go, or I swear I’ll tear down the entire station!”

  
  


FP would surely be mad if his place of work was destroyed, and the threat really wasn’t valid since Sweet Pea didn’t have that kind of manpower. Hell, the statement itself wasn’t even remotely true, and Davids pointed that out just before he could realize it, saying,

  
  


“Your friend brutally slaughtered _twenty_ people single-handedly, and you’re telling me that’s not wrong?”

  
  


Toni looked about ready to kill the man at this point because honestly, with a Serpent spitting venom just a few feet away, it wasn’t exactly the best time to mouth off. Sure Davids was a cop, but Sweets was furious, and the only thing stopping him from ending that ugly twerp was her and Fangs, and she was close to killing him herself. What made him think mentioning that little traumatizing tidbit was going to help the situation?

  
  


“You don’t know a damn thing about him!” To anyone listening in it may have sounded like a weak excuse, but to Sweet Pea it was the absolute truth. The cop didn’t know why Jones had done what he’d done, and yet there he was judging him for it!

  
  


No matter what the man said, Sweet Pea just couldn’t think of his friend as a killer. This Davids guy probably saw an insane looking teen with blood on his hands, giggling maniacally as he was dragged away to receive the justice he deserved for his actions. All Sweet Pea could see was a scared child being harshly torn from his family, his eyes going dead with fear while his thin limbs went limp and his wrists were cruelly crushed by hard steel cuffs. Jones didn’t deserve that.

  
  


“Calm down, all of you!” The shock at hearing FP speak was enough to halt Sweet Pea’s struggles, which in turn caused Fangs and Toni to overbalance on either side of him from pulling backwards to keep him still. All three hit the floor with loud thumps and muffled curses, and even Davids seemed to still in his angry defence, turning with the teens to watch the older man as he slowly stood from the wheelchair.

  
  


“This is a tense situation, but shouting isn’t gonna make it any better, and it sure as hell ain’t gonna help Jughead. So settle down, and listen up!” He may be retired, but FP was still a leader and his years of practice showed when he stepped forwards with hardly a waver, pushing his own emotions to the back of his mind as he took control of the scene with ease.

  
  


“Johnathan, I know what this looks like, but you and I have both been around long enough to know not everything is straight forwards.” FP addressed the cop casually as he knelt down to offer Toni a hand, making it obvious that at least this guy worked for him while he was Sheriff, and therefore wasn’t totally against them in this.

  
  


The use of his first name seemed to relax the man slightly, and his face softened when Sweet Pea swayed slightly, finding it difficult to stay vertical as the residual electricity of the taser finally caught up with him. His face contorted in pain, and the muscles in his back twitched spasmodically like a cat stretching, leaving him closing his eyes to fight off a wave of dizziness as Fangs wrapped a hand around his waist to steady him.

  
  


“Be that as it may, these are serious charges being levelled against your boy FP, and the evidence is overwhelmingly not in his favor.” Johnathan sounded genuinely apologetic, and although he sighed rather exasperatedly, his next words were spoken with a lot more sincerity than any of the teens were expecting.

  
  


“You’re a good man, and you’ve never led anyone in the force wrong before, even when it would’ve helped you and the Serpents out big time. So if you tell me that the kid is innocent...” Here he paused, looking curiously at FP until the other man nodded, his dark eyes locking with Johnathan’s as he replied fervently.

  
  


“He is.”

  
  


“Then I believe you, and I’ll do whatever I can to keep your son out of prison. But I’ve gotta warn you, it doesn’t look too good for him right now, and in all honesty I’m not sure you’ll be able to get him out of this one. There are some pretty powerful forces aiming to have him locked away.” At this FP looked confused, and moving to grab Jughead’s things from a chair, he asked,

  
  


“Powerful forces? What’re you talking about? Who would have a grudge against a sixteen year old?”

  
  


“Dunno, but we hadn’t even finished analyzing the scene when a squad of FBI troopers showed up. Their orders were to grab some local reinforcements and head straight to the hospital to arrest a dangerous criminal. Apparently they’d gotten a call from a witness saying they’d seen the whole thing, and that Jughead was the perpetrator, not the Sinners. Claimed that they’d seen the kid stab you just to get the gang’s attention.”

  
  


The four Serpents stopped dead in their movements, gaping at the officer like he had two heads before Toni broke the silence, almost losing her grip on the change of clothes she’d been about to hand FP as she yelled,

  
  


“What?! Why the hell would Jones stab his own father, just to talk to a group of scumbags?!” Her indignation was mirrored in the faces of her friends, and Fangs let go of Sweet Pea to gesture angrily at Johnathan, his rings clattering against each other as he revolted vehemently.

  
  


“He could just as easily have tracked them down and smoked them out if he really wanted to negotiate! Besides, we saw the whole scene, and there was no on left alive! Who could possibly-” He didn’t get the chance to finish his rant, because at that moment Sweet Pea’s knees buckled and he tumbled forwards, his long legs folding beneath him as his eyes fell shut.

  
  


Toni’s cry of dismay had barely left her mouth before Fangs was diving for the floor, sliding across the tile as he reached for his friend and only just managing to catch him in his decent to the vinyl. Cradling Sweet Pea’s head in the crook of one elbow, the kind teen tilted his chin up to get a good look at him, and his brows knitted in concern at the sight of his normally almond skin turning pale. He began to shake Sweet Pea gently, muttering his name, and was painfully reminded of doing the exact same thing not ten minutes ago when his friend had refused to rouse from his fight with the taser.

  
  


“M’okay.” Sweet Pea’s voice was a low croak, and his eyelashes flickered open to reveal two very dazed chocolate orbs, proving that he was _not_ in fact okay, but rather lying through his teeth about his health as usual.

  
  


“You literally just blacked out for like, a full twenty seconds.” Toni sounded about as unimpressed as Fangs felt right then, although the affect of her deadpan statement was lost when she jumped in surprise, staring at FP who now stood beside her fully clothed. She hadn’t even noticed him leave. Toni was interrupted in her bafflement regarding FP’s teleportation skills when Johnathan, ever the optimist, spoke up with his very depressing wisdom.

  
  


“They tased him for a while before he finally passed out, and after that he hit his head on the floor. Best guess is his muscles are gonna be twitchy for a couple hours, and he has a minor concussion.” Turning to the victim of said harsh treatment, he complemented him while helping Fangs in getting him vertical, saying,

  
  


“Perks for staying awake so long though. I know for a fact most people go down within seconds.” With that they were out the door, being lead by Johnathan and FP as they discussed transport, while Toni and Fangs supported Sweet Pea at the back, keeping an eye out for any cops on the hunt for more victims.

  
  


-

  
  


By the time they had all piled into Johnathan’s squad car Sweet Pea was shaking faintly, his hands twitched spastically from their place on his knees, and it was all he could do to stay awake as the conversation continued between the two adults in the front.

  
  


“The kid seriously could’ve gotten the Sinners while they slept?”

  
  


“’Course he could’ve. They know where the White Wyrm is, and we know where they are, but attacking home turf is basically a declaration of war John. The Serpents are good, butt after the Ghoulies our numbers are thinned, and we wouldn’t stand much of a chance against all the Sinners. Jug knew that.”

  
  


The officer was silent momentarily, clearly processing the idea that a sixteen year old had pushed aside his own hotheaded impulses, and instead had put his people first, choosing the course of action that would be best for them.

  
  


“Damn. You’ve got one hell of a leader on your hands, FP. Still, with all the evidence stacking up, I mean a _witness_...” FP shook his head at that, clenching his fists in barely contained anger as the truth sunk in, and his next words were practically growled as they rounded a corner.

  
  


“There was no one on that street, and no cameras either. The Sinners made sure of it, so if one of us did survive there’d be nothing pinning them to the crime! This is a frame job, and a bad one at that. Who’s gonna buy that Jug stabbed me, just to get a one on one talk with a gang he could easily track down? There’s no way it’ll hold up in court!”

  
  


This seemed to lessen the officer’s gloomy outlook and he nodded slowly, glancing at the teens in the back as he pulled up to the station, and looking almost hopeful when he shut off the car, turning in his seat so he could see everyone.

  
  


“You may be right. Still, rules are rules, and by law I need to take you all in for questioning.” Sweet Pea tensed, and both Fangs and Toni moved as if to protect him, sitting straight on either side of their friend with danger in their eyes, gazing steadily at Johnathan with the unspoken threat hanging heavy in the air between them. Seeing this the cop raised his hands placatingly, speaking calmly as he explained,

  
  


“Whoa, easy, I don’t mean you’re gonna be dragged off like Jughead. Honestly that seemed much harsher than necessary, but the point is nothing like that is going to happen here. All I need is for the four of you to come in and answer a few questions, you know, to get your side of the story. With your information clashing against this mysterious witness’s testimony, we should be able to help Jughead a lot in the trial.”

  
  


This statement calmed them somewhat, and before they could change their minds Johnathan had bustled them out of the car and into the station, stopping only at the front desk to get them all checked in, then sorting them into rooms for questioning. To avoid any tabletop battles he chose to pair them up with officers they knew, since he’d much rather deal with friendly banter taking up all their time than one of them losing their temper and smashing a questioner through the wall.

  
  


Toni got Talia since she was about as salty as the Serpent and could probably handle her, Fangs got a nice calming man named Thomas, and Johnathan himself was assigned to FP. All in all, things should have gone well. They should have gotten lots of good info to help with Jughead’s case, and they did get a fair amount at that. There was just one problem.

  
  


Sweet Pea wasn’t paired up with a cop he knew.

  
  


He wasn’t even paired up with an officer from the station, or the entire county for that matter. Sweet Pea was shown to a too bright room with a metal table, and in his distraction he didn’t see the man who closed the door behind them, nor the way he shooed off the woman meant to question him, assuring her quietly that she had been relieved of duty. This man was tall and thin, and looked way too sleazy to be a school bus driver, let alone a police officer. And he had a skull tattoo hiding beneath his shirt sleeve.

  
  


-

  
  


The questioning had gone smoothly enough for Johnathan, and he was moderately pleased with the information FP had been able to provide for him. Of course it had been quite the shock to say the least when he was told that yes, Jughead had in fact killed twenty people with only a couple switchblades, but he knew FP well enough to believe him when he said his son had had no other choice. In a situation like that, with the responsibility of keeping your own father breathing while surrounded by enemies, he couldn’t blame the kid for losing it.

  
  


What really hit hard was the idea that a sixteen year old boy had actually been able to not only take on an entire gang, but had come out on top and slaughtered every single one of them. It was terrifying.

  
  


The officer offered FP a hand as they both rose from the table, helping the man onto his no doubt weary feet while explaining what kind of a case they were looking at.

  
  


“The fact that he killed twenty people cause he was upset is going to set your boy back a bit, I won’t lie. On the other hand, young women have been known to do some pretty insane stuff to protect their children, and most have come out on top by using self defence.” His tone changed from doubtful to hopeful as he spoke, reaching to pull open the door as he continued.

  
  


“With a good lawyer, a judge that hasn’t been bought off, and a whole lotta luck, I think Jughead has a good chance at getting out of this with some community work.” His words comforted FP’s frayed nerves, and the retired leader allowed his shoulders to relax slightly as he followed his friend out into the brightly lit hallway.

  
  


“Thanks John, if we come out on top I’m gonna owe you one.” He chuckled when the cop shoved his shoulder lightly, shaking his head as he replied tiredly.

  
  


“You kidding? FP, _when_ I scoop you two outta this mess, you’re gonna owe me the whole damn bar, not just one drin-”

  
  


They were rudely interrupted from their playful banter by a deafening crash, and their eyes widened in shock as two figures burst out of an interrogation room, taking the door right off it’s hinges in the process. It was only FP’s years as a Serpent that allowed him to drag Johnathan out of the way in time to avoid a fist when the pair slammed into the wall, one throwing punches for all he was worth while the other merely grappled in defense.

  
  


“You bastard!”

  
  


FP startled when he recognized Sweet Pea’s gruff tones, taking a step forward as the teen’s normally steady voice cracked and strained with emotion. Squinting, the he could make out the black leather jacket twirling around Sweet Pea’s torso, and rippling over his muscles like a second skin as he lunged at his opponent taking them both to the floor.

  
  


“I’m gonna kill you for what you did!”

  
  


Blood splattered on the tile nearby as Sweet Pea’s already bruised knuckles came into contact with the man’s nose, and a sickening crunch rang out, echoing against the walls and bringing Johnathan back to his senses. Rushing forwards he grabbed desperately at the teen’s arm, trying and failing to restrain him from further injuring the officer, because there was no doubt that the struggling figure was the cop in charge of interrogating him.

  
  


“Son, stop! I know you’re upset about your friend, but this won’t help him!”

  
  


Johnathan should have been confused by why Maria hadn’t been the one questioning the Serpent, he should have wondered why the kid was so angry, but at the moment all he could think about was how much more trouble Jughead would be in if one of his compatriots killed an officer.

  
  


More people were arriving at the scene now, and among them was Toni and Fangs, both of whom could only stare in awe at the absolute rage that seemed to have consumed their friend, lending strength to his bones as he threw himself upon his enemy. Sweet Pea’s feet were practically leaving dents in the floor as he dug them in to resist Johnathan’s attempts at holding him back, and between the devastating punches he was landing and the grip he had on the man’s throat, it was hard to match this wrathful beast with the shaking teen who had needed help getting into the car not 45 minutes before.

  
  


Before anyone could stop them the pair had tumbled down the hallway, rolling over and over in a twisted game of leapfrog as Sweet Pea attacked furiously, roaring his hatred at the innocent officer. One hit, two hits, and he showed no signs of letting up as he totally ignored the men approaching threateningly with tasers raised high.

  
  


“You think they’ll save you?! No, you’re going straight to hell where you belong!”

  
  


A strangled gurgle escaped the guy, and the wild look in his eyes told the growing audience that he was absolutely terrified that the Serpent might actually go through with his threat. A weak hand grasped feebly at Sweet Pea’s shoulder, twitching and shaking as the oxygen slowly got cut off from entering the man’s lungs, and his lips began to turn a dangerous shade of blue.

  
  


“Sweet Pea, stop! Stop, you’re gonna kill him!”

  
  


FP pushed Johnathan aside, both arms striking out lightning fast and yanking the dark boy into a full nelson, his fingers clamping down hard on the back of his neck. A feral growl rose from Sweet Pea’s throat, and he struggled desperately against the older man, clawing and writhing in his grip as he continued to yell.

  
  


“Let me go, dammit! You don’t know what he did, that monster has to die! Let go!”

  
  


Despite the teen’s protests FP held fast, tightening his hold and backing up gradually until they were on the opposite side of the corridor. By the time his back bumped the wall five officers were surrounding them, some with guns out and aimed directly at Sweet Pea’s head.

  
  


“Stop fighting, Sweet Pea.” FP’s words were barely louder than a mumble as he strained to keep his charge’s limbs under control, tangling their legs together to keep Sweet Pea from kicking any of the approaching men.

  
  


“It’s over, boy. It’s over!” It wasn’t. At least not for the teen.

  
  


Sweet Pea pulled at the arms entrapping him, clawing at the thick leather skin of his captor as he wiggled around his FP’s grasp, shouting for all he was worth.

  
  


“Let go! He’s a damn monster, he has to die! Let me go, he’s guilty! He’s done so much, he told me what he did! That smug bastard smiled the whole time he told me what they did!”

  
  


Said man was being supported by both a man and a woman, and between them he swayed weakly, fear shining in his eyes as he explained to them what had happened. Everyone in the room completely ignored the noise the struggling teen made, choosing instead to focus on the beaten officer’s report.

  
  


“I, I was just questioning him, not even about anything all that serious, but he seemed so tense. I just don’t know what happened! One minute we were talking about his friend, and the next he was coming at me, just attacking without any warning!”

  
  


Toni and Fangs turned to their friend who still fought against FP’s arms, both sending him worried and questioning glances. It was true that Sweet Pea had a temper, and seeing as he picked up on dangerous situations faster than most it wasn’t unreasonable for him to commit sudden acts of violence. Still, he knew not to attack cops, and for him to freak out(visibly anyway) just from talk about Jones didn’t make any sense.

  
  


“He’s a liar! Every word that’s coming outta his mouth is shit, and he knows it! Let me go!”

  
  


A sheen of sweat covered Sweet Pea’s brow, and his legs were beginning to shake where they stood trapped by FP’s own. His chest was heaving even while his hands trembled in their hold on the older man’s forearms, and from the panting breaths escaping his cracked lips it was clear this wasn’t mere adrenaline.

  
  


The dark teen was strong, and while exhaustion could explain away the sweat and heavy breathing, it could not account for the way the blood was starting to drain from his face, nor the slightly glassy look in his chocolate eyes as they glared pointedly at the man across from him. Something was definitely wrong with Sweet Pea.

  
  


“Sweets?” Toni sounded worried as she called his name for the fifth time, and it was all she could do not to run to him as cops swarmed the hallway, giving the injured officer medical assistance as FP argued that the Serpent in his arms wasn’t a threat. They were none too happy about the situation, and despite Johnathan’s insistence that there had to be a misunderstanding, everyone knew there were going to be some very serious consequences.

  
  


A gasp of apparent realization escaped the victim(Phillip he told them) and he practically jumped out of the medic’s grasp in his haste to explain his epiphany.

  
  


“He’s insane.”

  
  


Fangs looked more than a little murderous at this accusation, and it was only Toni’ small hand on his shoulder that kept him from punching the guy as he yelled in indignation.

  
  


“What do you mean?!”

  
  


Phillip didn’t look taken aback at the reaction, if anything he just looked sad, pitying even. He shook his head as he glanced at Sweet Pea’s shaking form, explaining himself with as much clarity as he could muster with his broken nose.

  
  


“I mean he’s lost it. Now, don’t get me wrong I’m not saying he’s one of those dreamy weirdos at the asylum. I’ve seen this plenty of times before, and it always starts the same. They lose a loved one, usually in a horrifying way, and their brain just short circuits. They connect that loss to the thing that took it away, and attempt to get revenge. In some cases it’s a criminal, and in this case it’s the police.”

  
  


Toni, Fangs, and FP had never heard such bullshit, and they were a second away from chucking the guy out the window before the officers around them began nodding their heads. Many started muttering about cases they’d seen while a few shook their head’s sadly, all the while pulling Phillip up and wondering aloud when the ambulance would arrive.

  
  


They were accepting it.

  
  


The idea that Phillip, a cop, could have done something wrong was entirely preposterous, but the thought that the kid was in the grips of grief-madness? It made total sense. That was the only possible thing that could have made him lose it like that, and certainly the only reason he’d be possessed to assault and officer.

  
  


“What? That’s ridiculous, there’s no way Sweets would-” Toni was cut off before she could even begin.

  
  


A pair of officers stepped forwards, roughly pulling the shaking teen from FP’s hold and jerking his arms behind his back, completely ignoring the man’s cries of outrage.

  
  


“He’s not crazy, he didn’t- wait, what the hell do you think you’re doing with him?” He was met with jaded stares, and despite his position as Sheriff they continued with their actions, grasping Sweet Pea’s arms hard enough to leave bruises in their attempts to keep him upright on his weak legs.

  
  


“Oh, for the love of- I’m the sheriff dammit, and there’s no way you’re arresting that kid when there’s clearly something wrong!”

  
  


At this they turned, locking eyes with FP as they finally replied to his objections. He didn’t recognize either of them.

  
  


“You’re right, _sheriff._ There is something wrong here. This kid’s insane, just like the last one we dragged in, and he’s a danger to himself and others. He just assaulted an officer!”

  
  


Having apparently said all they had to say to FP, they turned to the teen currently shaking in their hands, and they almost seemed to smile as he continued to yell, his voice turning raspy while his words lost any hint of sanity. They shook him harshly until he met their gaze, his eyes burning with unbridled fury.

  
  


“What’s your name?”

  
  


“Screw you, idiots. You let me go, or so help me I’ll-” One man tightened his grip on the Serpent’s arm until he knew there would be marks later, and finally Sweet Pea relented, growling out his answer.

  
  


“Sweet Pea.”

  
  


“Sweet Pea, you are under arrest for the aggravated assault of an on duty officer of the law.”

  
  


With a click, the cold cuffs closed around his wrists, and before anyone could say another word he was being dragged away down the hall, his black boots scraping weakly at the tile while his legs trembled. The last thing his three friends heard was his voice, hoarse and desperate as he screamed at the grey walls of the station.

  
  


“He’s a monster, you hear me? A monster! I kill you, you bastard! I’ll kill you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the update at last! I got super busy with classes, but I finally found the time to post this. I didn't edit it though, so there's probably gonna be some mistakes, sorry.
> 
> I love feedback and reviews, so please tell me what you think! Anything you like, dislike, or are confused about? Tell me! 
> 
> Do you like the characterization so far? Are you a fan of Sweet Pea Whump, cause it seems like there isn't enough out there? Any theories on what Phillip did to make Sweet Pea so mad?
> 
> Your comments make my life better, and without them I wouldn't have the motivation to keep writing!


	10. Darkness and Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the darkness of his cell Jughead begins to doubt whether he was in the right in his actions against the Sinners. Are they right to want to kill him, and was he wrong to attack, even in self defense?

Consciousnesses came back to Jughead slowly, as his body tested whether or not it was safe for his mind to once again join the land of the living. It hadn’t always been like this obviously, since most people’s brains don’t go Bye-bye after a certain amount of strain, but somewhere in his childhood he’d developed it as a sort of defence mechanism.

  
  


One night many years ago the Jones household had been in uproar, mainly because FP had come home drunk and him and Gladys were fighting. Normally Jughead would have been instructed to take his sister to the back yard or the park to play, but his parents were much to busy biting each others’ heads off to think about their kids.

  
  


_It got louder, and louder, and as the noise grew so did the knot in Jughead’s stomach, along with the pounding in his skull. Jellybean was crying, curled up in his arms as he held her close, shaking in the corner of the bathtub, with twin tears rolling down her rosy cheeks. That night Jughead prayed to any god that would listen, asking them to take him away from this terrible place. Take him far away from all the noise, and all the hate, and all the tears, and all the gut-wrenching pain of seeing his little sister cry in fear._ _He wished for the world to disappear._

  
  


_He screwed his eyes tight shut, whimpering as he heard a crash from the kitchen, and rocking back and forth to try and calm Jellybean. A lump built in his throat and he heard his own voice, screaming in his head loud enough to block out even his dad, shrieking for them to just_ stop. _Then it happened._

  
  


_All noise seemed to fade away, transforming into warped echoes of what it once was, and he felt his limbs begin to relax as his vision blurred. Jughead didn’t hear Jellybean’s panicked cries as his arms went slack and thumped onto the tub floor, and he didn’t see the mildewed ceiling glaring down at him when his head rolled back to lull limply against the tile wall. He didn’t know he was staring blankly up through glassy eyes, nor was he aware when his parents burst in, having been drawn from their fight by their daughter’s screams of worry._

  
  


_They’d been on their way to the hospital when he’d woken up and insisted he was fine, and they’d been ready to take him again when it happened next. The third time though, they never even knew it had happened. Or the fourth time. Or the fifth. He stopped telling them, because while to his family it was a worry, to him it was a blessing. A way to simply clock out when the world got too cruel. And the world was always cruel to Jughead...._

  
  


With a jolt Jughead snapped back to reality, realizing he’d drifted off and left his body to do the self-analyzing all by itself. Big mistake.

  
  


Biting back a groan, he felt his fingers start twitching wildly in an attempt to work off some of the pain, completely ignoring their bruised and scraped state in favor of dancing over the itchy material he seemed to be resting on.

  
  


His feet began the merry parade singing tunes about bruises, ugly scrapes, and absolutely no chance of walking without pain for at least a week, while his legs followed quickly after adding in a harmony of the same song. Of course his stomach couldn’t let them have all the fun, and much to Jughead’s chagrin it jumped up and down with phrases that sounded an awful lot like “Bruised spleen,” along with “Messed up liver,” and “Bruised hips” the last of which wasn’t technically part of his stomach, so it had no business being there anyway.

  
  


A weak breath escaped his chapped lips, and Jughead gasped at the sudden bolt of pain racing through his ribs, bringing fiery agony as it went and leaving him panting slightly while his nimble fingers did the waltz at his side. Taking a slightly deeper breath, he managed to diagnose that he had more bruised ribs than he wanted to think about, along with maybe one or two cracked, and his spine felt like a car had run over it.

  
  


_Drip._

  
  


Jughead’s head turned sharply at the new sound, jerking his stiff neck painfully in the process and reminding him just how long that woman’s nails had been, as the puncture marks still stung in his collarbones. Upon closer inspection it appeared there was a leaky pipe running along the ceiling of his cell- because that was where he was -and every minute or so it dripped down onto the cement floor.

  
  


“Rlly?”

  
  


He’d meant it to sound sarcastically annoyed, but what came out was a slurred croak, leading him swiftly into a brutal coughing fit that left him curled tightly on his right side. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as the position added pressure to his ribs, and he desperately wished that he could lay on his less damaged left side. His left side that had a dislocated shoulder.

  
  


A shaky sob tore itself from his shredded throat, and, in a last ditch attempt to keep from breaking down completely, Jughead focused on his surroundings. If he started crying he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  
  


The place was relatively dark, so it must be night, and that meant that he’d been laying in here pretty much all day, minus the couple hours of torture he couldn’t fully remember. There were no lights on as far as Jughead could see, leaving him sitting in almost complete blackness, and the longer he strained his eyes, the more alone he felt.

  
  


A sigh rattled his thin frame and he slowly pushed himself up so he was leaning against the wall, taking as deep a breath as he dared in an attempt to clear his head. The cell smelled like the bleach that they cleaned it with. Like the scratchy polyester he was sure the thin blanket had been made with, and stale water sitting in the metal toilet, and the steel bars that people could use to gawk at him.

  
  


No, that metallic smell was blood, he’d recognize it anywhere. His blood. A quick touch examination told Jughead that his split eyebrow was matted with a crusty layer, his nose had a trickle running down from it, and his whole body had scraped and cuts here and there, only all too willing to spill his life substance everywhere. _‘Damn, maybe that’s why I’m so dizzy’._

  
  


Jughead coughed feebly, and as he did he felt a chilly draft run up his bruised spine, sending a cold shiver through his entire body as he wheezed. _‘Okay, so I’m still in that gown. Great.’_ He wasn’t sure whether he should feel grateful that a stranger hadn’t seen him naked, or annoyed that he was stuck wearing no more than a rag on his way to the gallows.

  
  


_Drip._

  
  


Shivering, he reached out his undamaged hand slowly and at the same time shuffled sideways on the cot, hoping that even if he couldn’t see he could at least get an idea of where he was. Inch by scratchy inch his abused fingers crawled over the no doubt ugly grey blanket, feeling around the sides of the thin padding he’d been provided.

  
  


The bed ended sharply, cutting off and leaving him grasping at empty air as his overstretched arm waved frantically around, and for a moment panic overtook his already muddled mind. Flailing wildly, he shot both feet down and under to provide a latch, clipping him hazardously to the cot, and only just managed to catch himself in time.

  
  


“Ah, shit!”

  
  


The involuntary strain of his vocal chords caused them to rebel angrily, shrieking their fury as they sent white hot spears of pain lancing through his torn throat and pushing him towards a coughing fit.

  
  


Eyes watering, Jughead allowed his cramping calves to release their hold on the bed, sending him tumbling to his bruised knees as he fought to cut off a cry that threatened to break the unstable peace treaty he’d only just signed with his voice. As long as he didn’t use it, it wouldn’t hurt him.

  
  


What did hurt was the sound of both his knee caps cracking on the cement floor as he fell, leaving him shaking and writhing on the ground as his body rejected his very existence. He wanted to curl in on himself to trap the coughs in his chest, but the pain of his destroyed stomach protested vehemently at the very idea, screaming along to the tune of his ribs singing in shrill agreement.

  
  


Meanwhile his knees begged for release from the pressure being put on them, causing his left arm to yell that his right couldn’t keep him upright by itself, and his torso continued to ramble on about how much it would hurt to fall on his side.

  
  


“N-nu. Huelp plis.”

  
  


Jughead’s voice was no more than a ragged whisper at this point, pleading with the silence not to drown it out, and he really couldn’t care less that his throat was firing arrows into itself because his skull was giving death metal a try, and _‘Oh God, the drummer is terrible’_

  
  


_Drip._

  
  


His breath hitched, and before he could even brace himself he was coughing, hacking desperately as if he could somehow eject his wrecked trachea, his traitorous lungs, or even better maybe his ribs would like to leave until they were feeling the community spirit. With his right hand Jughead grabbed feebly at his blood encrusted neck, while his left clutched his midsection lightly, praying that his guts were mostly in one piece.

  
  


_Drip._

  
  


Tears pricked at his eyes, and for the life of him he could not remember why it was that he had been born into this hell. Maybe he’d done something bad in his past life? _‘Maybe I’m being punished for killing the Sinners. I guess_ _mass murder_ _isn’t socially acceptable.’_

  
  


He’d meant it as a joke, something to help him through this brutal attack of agony, but as soon as he thought it something in his heart clenched. Purple fingers curled tight against his stomach, and he looked down to see his hands were glowing, shining out starkly in the blackness.

  
  


With a gasp Jughead fell back into the hard edge of his cot, eyes widening in fear at the gruesome sight before him.

  
  


His hands were coated in blood.

  
  


Thick, sticky liquid poured over his fingers and down his arms, dripping onto the floor and pooling on and around his feet. A scarlet glow surrounded them, lighting his dim cell with the tint of cherries as their owner shook in terror. The goop seemed to move then, squirming where it dribbled and writhing into haunting faces marked with pain, each one’s mouth forming an “O” as it screamed at Jughead in rage.

  
  


“You did this!”

  
  


He could hear them now, crying out from their place in hell, each one telling a slightly different story.

  
  


“You’re a murderer!”

  
  


“You’re a monster!”

  
  


“A killer...a psycho!”

  
  


“You’ll never be free of this stain, never. Once you go red, you never go back!”

  
  


Jughead’s stomach roiled, growling in panic as thick bile rose in his throat, threatening to melt a hole right through his skin with it’s acid. He gave a strangled cry, stumbling forward on his knees until he bumped the edge of the toilet, where his stomach proceeded to empty any contents it had.

  
  


He heaved over and over, muscles clenching and unclenching agonizingly while his ears rung with the fading voices of his victims and his head pounded with a ferocity usually only reserved for important serpent meetings.

  
  


White hot pain clawed at his trachea, hissing venom almost as potent as the bile splashing into the toilet below, and he was sure in that moment that he would never talk again. Because how could you use your voice box if you threw it up along with every organ in your body?

  
  


“’M surry.” The words were slurred and faint, cracking so often that it seemed the boy himself might shatter all together.

  
  


“’m so sorry.” Bucking forwards, another load of burning acid emptied from his stomach and he sobbed, the noise tearing itself free from his lungs and echoing in the jail cell, as if to magnify his sorrow.

  
  


“Pluz, ‘m surry. ‘M sorry.”

  
  


Salty tears fell from his eyes, dripping slowly along cold cheeks before falling to sting his violated collarbones, leaving clean streaks as they ran over dust coated skin. The wrathful screams of the Sinners filled his ears, and for what seemed like an eternity he stayed on his knees, begging for forgiveness. Telling the darkness again and again that he was wrong to kill those people after all, that he was the one who had sinned and not them.

  
  


A gut-wrenching sob shook Jughead to his core, and finally, finally the vomiting stopped, allowing him to slump to the ground in defeat.

  
  


Alone and abandoned, he stayed crumpled on the floor of his jail cell, his back whimpering as it was pressed against the hard wall. His abused body shrieked in pain, and his skull screamed loud enough to wake the dead, both telling him that this was his fault.

  
  


‘ _Everything’s my fault.’_

  
  


It was true really, and his mind took every chance to remind him of his failures as tears streamed down his faintly freckled cheeks, beating the message home again and again as if that would somehow fix him.

  
  


‘ _You can’t fix me, I’m not broken.’_

  
  


It was what he always said when it felt like people were trying to change him, were trying to tell him he was wrong for existing the way he was. This time though, it didn’t work.

  
  


“ **Yes you are,”** A voice told him, sounding disturbingly like Penny as it growled savagely, shredding his already frail brain. **“You are broken.”**

  
  


_Drip._

  
  


Sharp agony bit into Jughead’s shoulder, forcing his arm to curl around his middle in its search for comfort, and through the pain he thought he could almost see the blood beginning to glow on his hands once again.

  
  


‘ _Maybe they’re right. I really am a monster.’_

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  


The next time Jughead awoke it was to the sound of very laboured breathing, seemingly somewhere near by. Normally he would just assume it was his own pathetic attempts at existence, but this was different than his own strained breaths. The noise was much deeper, much gruffer somehow, like it was coming from a chest a lot broader than his own.

  
  


Opening his eyes he found them assaulted by a stream of pale light, a detail to his new residence that he was sure hadn’t been there before. He jerked backwards in surprise, trying groggily to get away from unwelcome brightness, but only succeeded in banging his head against the wall. A small yelp escaped him, quickly followed by a few rough coughs, and it was all he could do to stay upright even while sitting.

  
  


Reaching a hand up to scrub at his afflicted irises he peered around blearily, doing his best to find the thing that had woken him while not being entirely sure what he was looking for. A jolt of curiosity ran through him at the sight of a small cell next to his, appearing almost exactly like his own now that he had the chance to see it.

  
  


Maybe he had a neighbour?

  
  


Stifling a groan of misery, Jughead dragged himself to his feet. Inch by inch he made his way up the wall, fingers crawling laboriously as his weak legs shuffled and his abused back moaned. At last though he was standing, and with a lack of anything better to distract himself with, he was quite eager to have a look at the cell next door.

  
  


From this higher vantage point, he was able to make out a toilet, the sink attached to it, and a thin bed sitting neatly in the corner. As he got closer though, it seemed more and more like he’d been wrong, like there was no one there and he’d been imagining things. Again.

  
  


Having reached the bars separating the two rooms he looked down into the cell almost desperately, searching for any proof that his sanity was in fact in tact, that maybe he wasn’t alone.

  
  


Nothing.

  
  


No one was in it, and he was met with a cold grey floor, hard steel bars, and not one spot of possible company. Hell, the only sign of actual life was a large pile of dark clothing that the last occupant had probably left behind.

  
  


Sighing much too breathlessly, Jughead slumped once again to the ground, crashing to his whimpering knees as the last bit of hope rushed out of him. This was it, he would be stuck here for who knew how long with no company other than a pile of laundry.

  
  


Then the pile moved.

  
  


Jughead’s head snapped up instantly, his eyes roving over the mass as his ears realized that yes, the black thing was breathing. It was making the sounds after all. Wheezing and harsh sounds sure, but at least it was something.

  
  


Squinting in the dim lighting, Jughead looked closer at the pile, because was it just him or did that look an awful lot like leather? And those sort of looked like combat boots. And ripped jeans.

  
  


With a small groan the thing shifted, rolling over with what looked like a herculean amount of effort before coming to a stop on it’s side. Jughead gasped as he found himself gazing down into a pair of hazy hickory eyes, blinking owlishly up at him from a sweat soaked olive face.

  
  


“Jones?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, I've got another chapter on it's way, and I'm super excited for you guys to read it, cause there's a surprise!
> 
> Of course as always, tell me what you think! Was it good? Was it bad? Any favorite bits or ideas that I should try expanding upon? 
> 
> Feedback fuels my brain, so I always appreciate any I get!


	11. Never Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Pea and Jughead are together again, but with Jughead unable to talk and Sweet Pea barely holding on, communication isn't easy.

“Jones?”

  
  


Sweet Pea’s normally smooth voice had been reduced to a grating croak, and despite his obvious efforts at coherency, the word was much more a breathless huff than an actual question.

  
  


“Swe-”

  
  


Jughead had been meaning to answer but he cut himself off quickly, realizing that talking right now would be a grave mistake. As in it might lead him to an early grave. Shaking his head lightly to avoid aggravating the boxer in his skull, he instead raised his one intact eyebrow, pointing vaguely at his neck as he did. The meaning was clear enough.

  
  


‘ _What happened?’_

  
  


Sweet Pea’s dark eyes were unfocused, and for a few seconds the only sounds in the room were their combined labored breaths as he stared uncomprehendingly at Jughead. Then the gesture seemed to register, and a spark of recognition showed in his glassy gaze as he shifted minutely, cracked lips parting while he prepared to speak.

  
  


“Dunno, it jusst...we wen’ in fer quesstioning ‘bout you ‘n sstuff, an-”

  
  


An invisible force appeared to stop him, shaking his shoulders until they bumped against the floor, and causing his fingers to spasm while his breathing sped up.

  
  


Sweet Pea clutched at a hole in his jeans in an attempt to still his twitching digits, grinding his teeth together as his lungs pushed further into the hyperventilation stage and his boots scraped at the floor’s unyielding surface. Veins pulsed in his neck, and his pupils dialed in and out wildly while sweat dripped slowly down his forehead, stopping only to sting at his eyes.

  
  


Muscles quivered in his arms and he shook, practically vibrating through the ground while his head twisted on his neck, shooting to the side before pushing against the floor. Vague mumblings fell from his lips, words slurring and mixing into an incomprehensible stream of nonsense, like someone desperately trying to cry for help but being unable to do so.

  
  


From the other side of the steel Jughead watched in horrified silence, unable to speak any words of comfort or even curiosity with his shredded trachea, and too far away to touch his suffering friend. That didn’t mean he couldn’t try though.

  
  


Straining forwards he pushed his right hand through the bars separating them, bruised fingers crawling across the cold cement until his arm reached its limit. Then, shoulder screaming in protest, he stretched further, grinding his scapula into the metal and wiggling his digits as he desperately tried to gain the extra inch. _‘So close...’_

  
  


Feather light, his skinned knuckles brushed against Sweet Pea’s sweat soaked neck, and he could feel the unnatural heat radiating there even as his ears picked up the older teen’s breathless gasps. He was on fire.

  
  


At the unexpected touch Sweet Pea’s eyes snapped open( _when had he closed them?_ ) and twin chocolate orbs peered blearily at the spider-like thing hovering before him. Through the fog in his mind he could just make out a battered hand, so thin and pale it seemed it would break if it was touched, but still it was offering him it’s strength. _Jones_ was offering him his strength.

  
  


In one shaky movement he grasped the hand in his own darker one, tightening slowly in surprise at just how cold it was to the touch. Then again that might just be him.

  
  


Gradually the spasms faded, and bit by bit Sweet Pea felt his muscles loosening while his breathing began to even out to a more normal pace. His fingers had doubled the size of the hole in his jeans and now the flexed at his side, feebly attempting to rid themselves of the terrible cramping that had taken them. Yet through all the pain, through the trembling of his legs and the raging headache building at the base of his skull, he never once let go of Jughead’s hand; nor did he look away from the ocean eyes locked with his.

  
  


“Thanksss Joness,”

  
  


His voice was even raspier than before, and while some of the fog had lifted from his gaze the overly drawn out S’ were doing nothing to comfort Jughead as far as his friend’s health was concerned. Raising an eyebrow yet again, he tilted his head slightly in a show of curiosity, feeling frustrated at how inadequate the gesture was to describe his emotions. He widened his eyes as an afterthought, hoping Sweet Pea would see just how worried he was, just how many things he wanted to say.

  
  


‘ _Are you okay?! What’s wrong? What’s happening to you?!’_

  
  


“’m okay, ‘m fine.” At the skeptical glare he got, Sweet Pea rushed to explain what had happened, not wanting his friend to try and speak with his injury.

  
  


“Thisss guy who wass quesstioning me, he didn’ ssmell right. I mean, there wass jussst ssomethin’ wrong with him, an’ I couldn’t figure out what it was. ‘t wass like the whole room frozze when he looked at me, and then he sstarted talking.”

  
  


Jughead’s puzzled stare told him that he wasn’t being clear enough, and he struggled to come up with the right words as he continued, stumbling over every other one while his tongue tripped around in his mouth.

  
  


“Like, he wassn’t really assking quesstions you know? He wass jusst ssaying stuff an’ faiting wor- mean waiting for me to deny it er ssomethin’. He kept ssaying thingss ‘bout you bein’ a murderer an’ talkin’ about how I should tell ‘im how I’d seen you stab your old man.”

  
  


Sweet Pea shook his head in disgust at the thought, because really, how did the guy think he was going to trick a serpent into framing a friend? It had been clear he’d been trying to force words into his mouth, hoping that his disoriented state might make him suggestible. Too bad for him Sweet Pea was tough as nails, and it was gonna take more than a little taser to throw him off his game.

  
  


“I guesss eventually he realized whatever he wasss trying wassn’t workin’ an’ he sswitched tacticssss. I mean, he ssslolled up hisss reavesss- I mean rolled up hisss ssleavess. Bsstard wasss a damned Ssssinner!”

  
  


The slurring was getting worse now, and it was all Jughead could do not to speak, to ask the older boy what the man had said, what he’d been talking about exactly, and what he’d done. But he knew it wouldn’t work, knew he’d just end up in a wheezing heap on the floor, so he waited patiently, wishing for Sweet Pea to get to the point. He knew the Sinners were in the station, but what had happened?!

  
  


Only Sweet Pea wasn’t talking anymore. He was staring at the floor, unblinking and unnervingly still with unfocused eyes as his lips stayed slightly parted in preparation for words that just weren’t coming. Jughead twitched their still intertwined fingers, wincing at the other teen’s callouses scraped against his skinned knuckles.

  
  


With a jerk, Sweet Pea’s gaze shot up to stare meet Jughead’s, staring as if only seeing him for the first time. Moments passed, and still he appeared just as lost and confused as he’d been when he first rolled over, as his eyes searched the face before him, feverishly looking for something, anything to ground him as his mind whirled and his stomach churned.

  
  


Faint freckles, ebony curls, and eyes so blue he could drown in them. _Jones._ Sweet Pea shook his head to clear it, concentrating on the boy holding his hand as if he was the only thing anchoring him to the earth because, in a way, he was.

  
  


“’m sssorry. No, nah, ‘m ‘kay. I can do thisss. Ssso the guy...”

  
  


Shame built in his gaze as he realized he couldn’t remember exactly where he had been, or what he’d been talking about. Jughead tilted his head to the other side this time, eyebrows furrowing as he mouthed the word “Tune” Tune? Right, the guy had, he’d, okay.

  
  


“Right, ssso he changed hisss tune an’ he showed me he wass a Sssinner. Ssstarted ssayin’ ssstuff that made no ssensse ya know? Talkin’ about how you had made the Sssinerss yer enemy an’ they were gonna take you down, and thiss time you wouldn’t get up. It, it wass like he wasss tellin’ me hiss evil plan, like in thosse cheesssy moviesss Toni watchesss...”

  
  


Jughead’s brow crumpled and he winced as his eyebrow stung at the movement, reminding him once more that it had in fact been sawed in half, thank you very much. The Sinners were still alive? There had been more, and by the sounds of it they were powerful enough to attempt to take him out through the system, since their street tactics hadn’t worked.

  
  


Wait! Sweet Pea couldn’t have been questioned that long after Jughead himself had been dragged away, so that meant...There were more than two Sinners in the station. This wasn’t just a beating to get back at him then, no this was a full scale operation, a complete infiltration of the law and it’s officers. But that was...

  
  


It was only the squeeze of Sweet Pea’s hand that brought Jughead back to reality, and he cringed, realizing that while he’d been thinking he’d somehow managed to dig a hole in his gown with his free hand. Grimacing he extracted his fingers from where they’d been starting to scratch at the skin beneath, shifting his legs to get out the dead feeling that had encompassed them.

  
  


Looking up he was met with a pair big, worried brown eyes that shone just a bit too brightly to be healthy, and he felt his heart give a painful twinge at the sight. Right, Sweets was feeling just as shitty as he was right now, maybe even more so with whatever was happening to him, and if he didn’t finish his story soon it looked like he might just pass out. _Focus!_

  
  


With what he hoped was a reassuring nod on his part, Jughead listened intently as Sweet Pea took a wheezy breath before continuing on with his slurred tale.

  
  


“I didn’t undersstand why he wass ssayin’ all that sstuff, jusst outing himsself, but then he pulled out thisss can of ssomething, like, uh, like I dunno, but then he, he-”

  
  


Another shudder wracked Sweet Pea’s muscular frame, setting his fingers thrumming in a pattern over his already bouncing thigh as if he could work it out with movement. His chest began to heave with great shuddering breaths, but despite the obvious danger he kept talking, gritting his teeth as he gasped for air between words.

  
  


“He, he sssprayed it on me, like a bug sspray or ssomething, and I breathed in a good bit before I realizzed I should hold my breath. After that, I, I dunno everything jusst got real foggy and red, and all I could sssee wasss hisss sssmile. Man, all I could hear wasss hisss damn voicce ssayin’ all ssortss of shhit about you, and I jussst. I losst it.”

  
  


He stopped as something seemed to crawl up his spine, making him twist and growl in an attempt to get it off, clawing at the skin peeking out of a hole in his jeans. With a snarl he was rolling, legs folding in to protect him while his eyes darted fearfully around, searching for some unseen foe.

  
  


The cell was closing in around him, the bed morphing into a heinous beast as the steel bars bent and shifted to form spikes aiming directly at him. A strangled cry broke free of his throat and he shook where he lay, unable to flee, unable to fight, and with no possible chance of closing his eyes. The world was trying to kill him, to get rid of his body like the pest he was, shaming the universe with his very existence.

  
  


“No, no ssstop it! Ssstop!”

  
  


Far off in the distance he thought he could almost hear a voice, rough and faint like the wind as it whistled and hissed, changing in frequency as if someone was talking. Only no on was speaking, nothing was there except the unending whispers bouncing around the walls while they shrunk.

  
  


Even as Sweet Pea watched, reality faded away. Swirling and glitching while the floor tilted beneath him and his clothes melted, dripping down his body in a black mass. Only he couldn’t feel the cement on his back, couldn’t make out the morning light as it shone down, couldn’t smell the stale circulated air.

  
  


He was drifting, floating in space, devoid of all human life, finally free of the responsibilities weighing him down.

  
  


No, he was falling, plummeting from heights unknown as he tumbled ever downwards through an endless black hole. Icy air bit at his face, and suddenly the burdens of his existence were dragging him further down, sending him speeding faster and faster to his doom.

His skin was slithering grossly, squirming to get away from him as it rejected his ownership of it, and he felt a hand clawing at it angrily for it’s betrayal of him.

  
  


“No, no no please! Don’t leave!”

  
  


Sweet Pea called out frantically, one hand straining to grab at the ceiling, pleading with the world not to abandon him, with the universe not to lock him out. To leave him falling for all of eternity, alone and unable to feel a single thing.

  
  


There was a soft shuffling behind him, like someone trying to get up off the floor, and for a second he thought the cosmos had decided to unleash a monster on him. Some fowl beast hell-bent on destroying him, on ripping his flesh from his ribs and his eyes from his skull, leaving him broken and dying in this abyss.

  
  


But there was no creature, no pain threatening to snuff out his soul. Instead, through the frantic beating of his own heart and the blood rushing in his ears, Sweet Pea could just hear a faint scratching noise. Not like nails on a chalk board, but rather similar to hands trying to break a surface they had no hope of bending. _What?_

  
  


Rolling over once again, Sweet Pea turned his head to see spider-like hands dancing over cement almost quicker than his eyes could catch, always pushing forwards only to fall back. Attached to the scraped fingers there were battered wrists, looking so frail and delicate it seemed they’d snap from the strain.

  
  


But he knew they wouldn’t. He knew those wrists spent many hours working doggedly away at 100 page manuscripts, and those abused fingers cramped constantly from writing with pen and paper when there was no laptop. If there was one thing in the world Sweet Pea was sure of, it was that those hands were stronger than any cruelty that was thrown at them. They were unbreakable.

  
  


His eyes drifted upwards then, wandering over porcelain feet covered in blooms of blue and deep purple, skimming past pearl knees encrusted with blood and a scarlet stained gown, and at last making their way to a face that was more pain than skin.

  
  


Tear tracked cheeks were dotted with freckles fainter than snowflakes in a white sky, and this only made the streak of crimson stand out all the clearer as it flaked away from one dark eyebrow. Curls black as midnight fell haphazardly onto the base of a thin neck, loosely bandaged with a strip of stained cloth.

  
  


There, in the middle of purity and pain sat two ocean orbs, gazing at him with such concern and fear that Sweet Pea thought his heart might break. They practically glowed with azure light, shining strong and untainted by the horrors that seemed to surround him in the void. To any other entity he was sure they would burn with fire, searing all before them until the world was ash and nothing more.

  
  


But not to him. To him they gave comfort, warmth, and strength. They gifted something deeper, something unnameable and beautiful, and so real it hurt just to look at.

  
  


Shifting, Sweet Pea pulled forward first one leg, then the other, muscles contorting with the effort and boots scraping for purchase on the smooth floor. Yes, floor, because he was not drowning in that void, he _would not_ _die here._ Inch by inch he pushed closer to the steel bars, not feeling it when his arms cramped and his legs stopped moving, nor did he notice the jerk of his lungs when they sputtered desperately for the air he could not give them.

  
  


He wanted to scream, to cry out to those ocean eyes, but his voice was caught in his throat and his airways were blocked by the bile threatening to spill out. So he pleaded with his gaze as melted chocolate met stormy sea, saying what his mouth could not.

  
  


‘ _Please, please help me. I can’t do this on my own.’_

  
  


In a cell of stone and steel, under beam of golden sunlight, two hands met. One was calloused and dark, with knuckles bruised from battle and scars carved for survival. The other was lithe and pale, it’s fingers scraped and bleeding from abuse, but it’s bones made strong from many years of use.

  
  


The world was stable again. It was shaky sure, but it was whole and the ground would not fall out from under Sweet Pea’s feet; Jughead’s grip promised him that much.

  
  


Bit by bit Sweet Pea’s senses came flowing back in, starting with sight as the cell reverted to it’s original state, leaving him kneeling on cement rather than blackness. His tongue recoiled at the mixture of bile and blood from the hole he’d bitten in his cheek, and it was all he could do to bite back a gag as the scent of copper hit his nose.

  
  


His fingers had not only torn the rips in his jeans wider, but had also shredded a small opening right through his skin, and it was now bleeding sluggishly. For some reason though, he couldn’t bring himself to care, because now he could _hear._

  
  


“It’s okay, just focus on me okay? I’m here, I’m not gonna leave you Sweet Pea. Just breath.”

  
  


Jughead’s whispered words floated across to Sweet Pea like heavenly hymns and he clung to every one with the fear that missing them would cause the abyss to reappear. And he breathed.

  
  


In and out, hitching slightly yet always steady, and as he breathed he found his tense muscles relaxing, pushing him to lean back against the bars instead of crouching in front of them. His legs unfolded to stretch out before him while his shoulders slumped in exhaustion, leading the way for the rest of his body as his walls gradually crumbled to the ground.

  
  


“Just keep breathing, nice job, you’re doing great.”

  
  


Jughead coached softly as he watched his friend’s posture loosen, encouraging him kindly even as the his own pain threatened to pull him under.

  
  


“Don’t worry, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  
  


Despite the grimness of the situation, Jughead couldn’t fight the small smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth as Sweet Pea struggled to form the words he wanted.

  
  


“ya gon be ‘kay?”

  
  


“I’m gonna be fine, just get some rest.”

  
  


It was a lie of course, since Jughead could practically feel his ribs buckling as his insides struggled to un-knit themselves, but it was one he had to tell. The older boy couldn’t go worrying about him in the condition he was in now.

  
  


Apparently Sweet Pea believed him, because within seconds his head was lulling limply against the steel bars separating them, dark strands of hair poking through them to tickle at Jughead’s bare shoulder. Slow- if not necessarily even -breaths brushed lightly past his parted lips, and the steady rise and fall of his chest were a comforting reminder that he was still alive.

  
  


Jughead twisted so that he faced away from the older teen, whimpering quietly when the movement jostled his abused body, and shuffled until he felt metal on his neck. Their backs met through the bars, brushing around steel as their spines sought to avoid the hard material, but still managing to offer a little comfort.

  
  


Jughead’s chilled body was grateful for the heat radiating from Sweet Pea, but his mind screamed alarm bells at the unnatural level of warmth scorching through the three layers of clothing on the serpent’s back. He definitely shouldn’t be able to feel it through a leather jacket, and the longer he thought about it the more sure he was that the fever would do permanent damage if it didn’t go down soon.

  
  


As if sensing his thoughts Sweet Pea stirred restlessly, his boots shuffling in an attempt to push him upright, and Jughead hurried to sooth him. Softly running his thumb over the other boy’s knuckles, he tilted his head back so that their dark hair touched, muttering quietly that he was still there.

  
  


After a few minutes Sweet Pea seemed to relax, his breathing falling back into it’s regular pace and his shoulders loosening once again.

  
  


“Yeah, you just rest. Don’t worry about any of this.”

  
  


Jughead knew his friend couldn’t hear him, hell he had barely been able to hear him while he was still conscious, but the whispered words comforted him somehow. Maybe it was because he actually had someone to say them to for once, instead of muttering them to his half-dead self while he passed out behind a couch back at the White Wyrm.

  
  


“I’ll figure something out, and you can grumble about when you wake up.”

  
  


\-----------------------------

  
  


The sun had risen fully now, and it’s bright rays shone down cheerily on the two dark-haired boys in the county jail, completely unaware of the bruises painting the skin it now smiled upon. The echoes of bird song mingled with the laboured breathing of the pair, and one particularly curious robin landed on the windowsill to study them.

  
  


Back to back they sat slumped, ones legs splayed aimlessly while the other’s were curled up tight to retain warmth. Their hands lay in between the bars, locked tightly together in a silent promise: Nothing would tear them apart.

  
  


The larger boy slept fitfully, sweat pouring down his bronze skin and soaking into his hair as fever raged throughout his lean body. The smaller teen however did not sleep, he could not. Instead his cold azure eyes stared blankly upward to meet the robin’s gaze, and while his frail form fought to collapse in upon itself, his mind churned.

  
  


It whirled with plans for the future. Escapes no human could attempt, war strategies no teen should know, and laws that normally only lawyers would have memorized. It flew through possibilities and scenarios of the days to come, marking off the unlikely and preparing for the inevitable.

  
  


He was hurt, seemingly abandoned to the torment of his enemies, and it was obvious that the young one wasn’t long for this world. But as the robin peered closer it saw something in that sapphire gaze that made the feathers in its tail stand up.

  
  


Determination. Strength. Hope.

  
  


Jughead may be imprisoned, he might be on his way to the hang man’s noose with no way to stop it, but he was _never_ _alone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! I have a lot to say this time, so please bare with me folks!
> 
> 1) Yes, Jughead and Sweet Pea are officially an item in this fic as you may be able to see from the change in tags and the gooey content of this chapter! Okay, angsty gooey, but still pretty gooey compared to the last chapter.
> 
> 2) My sincerest apologies to all Bughead shippers, as I've said before Betty will only show up in passing mention and there will be no romance in that respect. I just don't feel I'd be able to write them, and I'm exited to give this new ship a try. However, I'd like it noted that Jughead is not cheating on her, but rather they used to be a couple and are now broken up. Hence her mention here and there.
> 
> 3) Again, I'm real new to romance so until further notice I'm having Jughead as asexual and Sweet Pea as pansexual so...NO SMUT! 
> 
> 4) This does not mean there will be a pile of gooey fluff right away since I'm pretty sure they're both in denial and have been for months, but I do love a soft Sweet Pea so look forwards to that.
> 
> 5) Lastly, I have severely neglected my other work so I will be taking a break from Ready to Strike to go write up some new chapters for Serpentine Habits. If you like Jughead please go and check it out!
> 
> Thank you all so so much for your continued support and feedback, it means the world to me! Please let me know if you have any questions or comments about these announcements, because I will be glad to answer!
> 
> As always, I would love it if you would comment about any particular likes, dislikes or confusions you have. There is literally nothing I like more about writing than the cool lengthy comments you guys leave.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? This is my first fic so I know the writing is kinda crappy. I always imagined Jughead had a lot of buried emotions and most of his reactions to situations were like 50% cause he was too tired to actually react. Thought this would be an interesting different side to him. Sorry if this is OOC for you. Oh, and sorry the chapter was so short! 
> 
> I'll try and update soon!


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